Of Gods and Men
by FictionCookie2
Summary: When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske's shadow?
1. Prologue

Our story begins with the Elder Gods, beings of immense power. For millennia, they formed worlds… and Gielinor was their perfect creation.

It was also their last.

For eons, Gielinor lay silent and concealed.

But all treasures must be found.

A young god named Guthix came upon the world, and he was overwhelmed by its beauty. So much so that he desired to share it with others. Gateways were opened, and he brought in peaceful beings. They tended the land, and lived in balance with the world, just as Guthix had intended.

Gielinor was in the hands of mortals.

Content with what he had created, Guthix knew it was time for him to leave.

He journeyed under the earth... and slept.

But Guthix was not the only god.

One by one, others found Gielinor, and instead of a world of balance, they saw a world of opportunity.

New races swarmed through portals with no desire for peace or harmony.

They were schemers.

Warriors.

Killers.

Violence was swift to follow.

God fought god, mortal fought mortal, and a powerful few dared to fight their masters.

Out of chaos, the God Wars erupted, raging for centuries.

It was only after four thousand years of war that the destruction came to a sudden end.

In the north, a god named Zamorak managed to reclaim one of the physical remnants of the Elder Gods, the Stone of Jas, that had been battled over throughout the wars.

After being cornered by his opponents, in a desperate effort to save himself, Zamorak used its immense power to tear the continent asunder.

Gielinor, once perfect, was forever scarred.

The world cried out with pain.

And Guthix woke.

Enraged by what had become of the once beautiful world, Guthix drove the Sword of Edicts into the heart of the northern continent, creating a barrier around Gielinor.

With this power, he cast the gods out.

No god could set foot on Gielinor again.

It was a gift to mortals, freeing them from direct interference from the gods.

Thus, the God Wars were brought to and end.

With their masters banished, soldiers lay down their arms, and cities were built on battlefields.

Before returning to sleep once more, Guthix looked upon the world, savaged and war-torn... and wept.

Peace had returned to Gielinor.

The gods despised that peace.

They clawed at the boundaries of the world, hunting for a weakness.

Even in their absence, the gods' presence was felt.

They had left their mark, dividing the populace into factions, creating opposing ideologies and philosophies that contrasted and contended with each other.

There was friction among the residents of Gielinor.

Nevertheless, mortals went about their lives.

But they could not have anticipated what would happen next; an upheaval that would change Gielinor forever...

* * *

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	2. Quest 01: The Temple Knights (Ch1)

**Quest 01: The Temple Knights**

**Chapter 1 - Troll Invasion**

_After a troll attack on Burthorpe, Jahaan's superiors take an interest in him and send him off to Sir Tiffy with the aim of making him a Temple Knight. However, it's not as easy as signing on the dotted line..._

* * *

"INCOMING!"

The cry echoed through the town like a gunshot. Instantly, the dreary principality of Burthorpe was alive and kicking.

Jahaan Alsiyad-Abut was on his bed at the time, resting his feet over a book he'd borrowed from his bunkmate: 'The Ghastly Grimoire', a collection of short (supposedly true) ghost stories. Horror wasn't too much his forte, but good literature was hard to come by at the military base.

However, as soon as as he heard the deafening bellow from the major, 'By the Light of the Moon', the collection's fourth tale, became the furthest thing from his mind.

It was the second raid of the fortnight, the fifth of the month, and by now, Jahaan knew the drill like clockwork. He slipped into his iron plate armour and platelegs within half a minute, then adorning a half-helm to cover his head. From beside his bunk, he grabbed his steel shortsword and iron square shield.

The soldiers were trained with either a shortsword and claws, or a bow and arrow. Melee fighters had to be trained in very close-quarters combat, with an emphasis on accuracy, so claws were favoured. Jahaan got along with the claws just fine, but definitely felt more at home with a blade in his hand.

When he dashed out of his tent, still fiddling with his gloves, he saw a brightly coloured man just a few tents over, juxtaposing the dismal surroundings of the military camp. Burthorpe was a very grey town - the climate meant that for most of the year the place was overcast, shrouded in thick clouds, occasionally drenching the place in rain, just to make it look that much more miserable. Today was one of those days. The brightly coloured man, however, did not seem phased by the dark, or the cold, or the wind or the rain, despite him wearing clothes much more suited to desert climates.

With a grin, Jahaan hurried over to the only man he knew to be that inappropriate in his attire.

"Ozan!" Jahaan exclaimed when he was in earshot.

Ozan turned from the conversation he was engaged in and, upon seeing Jahaan trot over to him, met the man in the middle with a tight embrace. "Jahaan, my man!"

Ozan was a fairly tall gentlemen with a smile that exuded charisma, brightening up even the most miserable of places; he was like a glowing candle in the middle of Burthorpe, a flame that could never be extinguished. His skin was slightly dark, like Jahaan's, showing his desert origins. An expertly crafted bow was strung over his shoulders, with a large quiver of arrows to accompany it.

"What are you doing here?" Jahaan asked as they released their embrace.

"I was seeing a man about a herb in Taverly, and thought I'd come up to see if you were still alive. Turns out you are! Bravo!"

Hoping the trolls could wait another minute, Jahaan continued, "When did you get here, then? You timed it about right."

"Crackerjack timing is my style. I literally just got here, and was about to come looking for you, but these fine gentlemen said they hadn't had a drink in about three weeks, and I just HAD to help their poor souls. Now though, I think I'll stay for the fun."

One of the aforementioned soldiers, who was securing his arm guards, asked, "How do you two know each other?"

Ozan grinned. "It's a long story. Ancient pyramids, lost treasure that turned out to be a bloke… I'll tell you all about it once we make it out of this nuisance."

"IF we make it out," the soldier corrected, crossing himself.

"Oh, not if, WHEN. I'm not dying today."

Jahaan shook his head in despair. "You really haven't heard of not tempting fate, have you?"

Ozan winked, taking his bow from over his shoulders. "That would only slow me down," he hopped over the barricade and joined the line of rangers who were readying themselves for the impending assault.

Twisting his steel shortsword around his hands a few times and gripping tightly onto his shield, Jahaan exhaled deeply, before running to the frontline.

There were three main fronts the trolls attacked on - east, west and centre. They never were all that coordinated with their attacks and sometimes only attacked one front per raid. Even then, they didn't pool all their resources into it. Well, what little resources they had. Trolls had numbers that far outweighed what the Imperial Guard managed, but they were outclassed and outweaponed by their human opponents. Despite the numbers advantage, this was rarely utilised; sometimes trolls attacked with only a dozen to their ranks. The working theory was, legitimately, that a few of them got bored and began to cause a ruckus, trying to invade the town for the sheer hell of it.

The brutes were Bandosian, through and through, revelling in war and bloodshed. Bandos, being the War God that all trolls worshipped. Even in his absence of Gielinor, his presence was still felt in the chaos his followers caused.

Jahaan was on centre front, the main one, where the original horn had been blown from. So far, no other horns from the other battlements had sounded, meaning it didn't look like the trolls were attempting a two-pronged attack today.

With about a dozen rangers on the battlements, another six back by the castle wall, and two dozen melee fighters on the frontline, all soldiers braced themselves for the attack.

The battlefield was fought in a small valley, surrounded by rocky mountains at either side, leading up to the Death Plateau. It provided a decent defence in that it streamlined where the trolls could attack from, but at the same time it concentrated their focus onto one small area that lead up to the battlements. On this dismal day, rain was already pouring from the grey skies, creating puddles in the uneven graveled ground beneath them.

Major Rancour stood atop the battlements, looking through her telescope as the trolls advanced. They didn't have long. Clearing her throat, she drew her shortsword, held it high into the air, and shouted, "They want to burn our homes! They want to destroy our farmland and kill our loved ones! They will not succeed today! Every troll that falls is a crack in the glass house of the troll kingdom, and soon, they will all fall!"

Soldiers all around Jahaan cheered and screamed with bloodlust in their eyes, gripping their weapons tightly as the trolls rounded the final corner, led by the one they knew as General Morningstar.

He stood at twelve feet tall, his rock-covered body a natural armour, only leaving a few sensitive areas of bare flesh that the soldiers knew to target. Yellow and blue warpaint was haphazardly painted across his chest, though it didn't resemble anything in particular. It seemed like he had small strands of grass growing out of the top of his head; his face sported two huge buck teeth at the front, guarding a large mouth that could devour a man with ease.

With an earth shattering roar, Morningstar motioned for his trolls to attack.

Morningstar's battlecry couldn't be matched by all the soldiers on the battlefield, but they gave it a damn good try, charging into battle and engaging the first troll that grunted in their direction.

Fortunately, these trolls were not gifted with the size and stature of their general, most of them standing at between four and six feet. They relied on brawn over brains, and due to their size, agility and speed were their weaknesses - the soldiers knew to keep moving, to get behind their opponent when they could, and aim for the softer skin located on the troll's belly, the back of their neck, and at the arm and leg joints.

"SHIELDS!"

Jahaan didn't know where the shout was coming from, but instincts kicked in; quickly, he dropped to his knees, his sword falling from his grip as he did so, in order for him to use both hands to brace his iron shield above his head. Every soldier did the same in unison, right as a barrage of rocks came raining down from the sky. It was the crude ariel assault from the trolls. In actuality, it did just as much harm as good, as more often than not the rocks would take out one of their own rank instead of a Burthorpe soldier. Each and every rock than dented his shield caused Jahaan to groan and wince - it wasn't easy pushing back against that weight, but he survived. As soon as the all clear was given, he swiftly swooped his sword back up into his hands and cut through the first troll he saw, penetrating the soft area of his flesh with ease.

It didn't take long before the majority of the troll foot soldiers were disposed of, leaving only their general.

Morningstar picked up a large boulder and launched it across the battlefield, over the heads of all the foot soldiers and straight into the castle walls. It shattered on impact, crashing large and heavy fragments down on the unprotected rangers, one of them Ozan, who fell to the ground, buried under the rocks. Seeing this, Jahaan went to rush to his side, before Rancour yanked him back by the sleeve of his uniform and motioned in the direction of Morningstar, who was roaring in a frenzy.

"Him first," she ordered, holding her sword aloft, before charging towards the troll general. Jahaan followed in hot pursuit. When they got close, Morningstar pummelled the ground, causing a shockwave that sent the two of them tumbling to the floor, but they scurried away before the general could capitalise. Rancour swung for the softer flesh of the troll, but Morningstar twisted in time, causing the blade to ricochet off his rocky exterior. Jahaan went for a swing to the head, but Morningstar used his large arm to deflect the blow, throwing a punch at Jahaan in retaliation, who just about managed to roll out of the way to avoid impact. Fortunately, this distraction was enough to allow Rancour to land a significant cut on the kneecap of the general. Morningstar crumbled onto one knee, roaring in pain and fury. He swiped at Rancour with such force that the woman was sent flying back a good thirty feet, landing in a heap near the battlements. Just as Morningstar was about to turn his attention to Jahaan, the troll was too late; Jahaan stabbed his longsword deep into the trolls gut, twisting the blade inside, a fatal wound. He cut diagonally down as he removed the bloodstained sword; swaying and staggering, the troll then collapsed to the ground, breathing his final breath.

Major Rancour picked herself up from the ground, dusted herself off, and called out, "You injured, corporal?"

"No ma'am," Jahaan exhaled, trying to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat from his brow. "Has anyone checked on Ozan?"

Emerging from the rubble, Ozan rubbed the back of his head and said, "You guys looked like you had everything under control. I thought I'd just hang back for a bit…"

As soon as the young man was in range, Jahaan punched Ozan in the arm. "Don't you scare me like that again," his scolding was light, too wrapped up in relief. "I thought we'd lost you there."

"Ha! It takes more than that to take down-, wait do you hear that?"

It was faint, muffled, but there was the unmistakable sound of…

"Crying?" Jahaan ventured, confused. Looking around, he didn't see any of his comrades breaking into tears, and it sounded more like a child than any adult.

From behind Morningstar's corpse, a small, rock-like creature crawled out from a nearby boulder. It weaved its way under Morningstar's massive arm, up to his large head, and looked into his lifeless eyes. It's tiny little arms shivered as its disproportionate head nudged Morningstar's, trying to will the general to wake up. After a few futile attempts, the little creature began to quiver, breaking down into more quiet, whimpering sobs.

The major's shoulders sagged; she bit her lip, sighing. "Morningstar must've been its father. I wish trolls wouldn't always take their children on raids like this..."

One of the soldiers took his bow from over his shoulders and readied an arrow, but his heart wasn't in it. "It's a troll… shouldn't we…"

Taking one look into the round, beady eyes of the baby troll, Jahaan was quick to dispel such an idea. "We can't kill it, look at it - it can't be more than a week old."

Slowly, he edged closer to the baby troll, trying to appear as unthreatening as possible. He was rather unsuccessful, as the troll jumped in fright and hid behind his father's arm, trembling.

"Hey little fella, don't worry, I won't hurt you," his voice was as soft as cotton wool. Crouching low, he held his hands out in a gesture of peace, not that the troll would be able to comprehend such things. It wasn't likely he knew much of the common tongue, either. However, there was a universal language he knew the troll would be able to understand. Turning back to Ozan, he asked, "What do you have in your satchel?"

Snapping to attention, Ozan quickly rummaged through the contents of his shoulder bag. "Umm some wine, a dagger, a map, some coal, some rum, a scarf, some different wine…"

Rolling his eyes, Jahaan said, "Gimme the coal."

Ozan carefully made his may over to Jahaan, trying not to frighten the troll any further. Handing over the coal, Jahaan then held out his hand, and offered the coal to the troll. "Food?"

At this, the troll's eyes lit up. "Food!" it squeaked, gulping down the small lumps in one go. It wriggled and danced in happiness as the coal slipped down, its eyes shining with delight.

Jahaan felt his heart grow three sizes that day. "Look at him, look how cute he is!"

Ozan plucked up the courage to kneel down beside Jahaan, his face a picture of warmth. "He is rather adorable. Look at his little leaf sticking out of his head, and his little troll pants, and his little pacifier... awwww!"

The major shook her head at the two men cooing over the little creature, but she couldn't help but crack a smile. "If you two love him that much, why don't you just adopt him?"

Jahaan and Ozan shared a look, which caused the major to correct, "No, I wasn't serious!"

Ozan grinned. "Do you think he could handle my heroic adventures?"

"_You_ can barely handle your heroic adventures," Jahaan chuckled in reply. Looking down at the fidgeting baby troll, Jahaan smiled and crossed his legs, inviting the baby troll into his lap. Eagerly, the troll shuffled up to him and cuddled into his thigh. "What's your name, little fella?"

The troll's face screwed up. "Name?"

"Trolls are named after the first thing they try to eat," Major Rancour piped up. "Is that the first thing you've eaten, little one?"

The troll nodded, his little arms reaching out for more food. Ozan fished out one last lump of coal from his satchel, which the troll scoffed down, greedily. "Then his name is Coal!"

"Coal!" the troll echoed. "Me Coal! Me want foooooood!"

Jahaan laughed, putting a hand on Ozan's shoulder. "You've got your work cut out for you, old friend."

Jahaan and Ozan were busy enjoying the cute faces Coal was pulling when, from behind them, came a shout:

"Corporal Alsiyad-Abut?"

Jahaan turned around, squinting his eyes to find the source. A lanky man on the battlements holding a note seemed to fit the bill. "That's me."

"Commander Denulth wants to see you in his tent."

Warily, Jahaan and Ozan exchanged worried glances, the former biting back a gulp. With a quick dart of his eyes to Major Rancour, Jahaan saw that she knew nothing about this, worrying him further. In all his time in the Imperial Guard, Jahaan had only a few run-ins with the Commander, none of them pleasant.

Bracing himself, Jahaan climbed up the rope ladder and navigated through the maze of tents before coming across where Commander Denulth was based.

"Come in," the commander grunted when Jahaan appeared at the doorway.

Commander Denulth was a tall, well-built gentlemen, with a small grey moustache and beard combination. His bald head bounced light off it, creating shadow puppets on his dome from the candles. Sturdy steel shoulderplates and arm guards covered his black tunic, the mark of the Imperial Guard emblazoned on the centre. From the waist downwards he was covered in continuous steel, capping off in spike-toed boots. When Jahaan entered the tent, his gruff demeanour only grew tenser, his narrow eyes regarding the young corporal with the same disdain he seemed to hold for everyone and everything, even rabbits. It was a face only a mother could love.

"Sit down," he ordered, his low voice gravelly. Immediately, Jahaan obeyed.

Denulth had taken his seat over the other side of his pristine oak desk, picking up a few papers and proceeding to read through them in silence. All the while, Jahaan fumbled his fingers, unsure where to focus his eyes. It felt wrong to stare directly at the commander, but then again, was it rude to look elsewhere? Would that give the impression he was bored? That he wished he could be anywhere else? While the latter might be true - Denulth was a rather imposing man, one you never wanted to be stuck alone with - he didn't want that to come across. So, instead, he resigned to straighten his shoulders and look at the small hole in the fabric of the tent behind Denulth's shiny head. While the commander flicked through his papers in agonising silence, occasionally signing a few, Jahaan pretended to imagine all the wonders that could be going on through that little hole in the fabric.

_They could be holding a celebration? They'd dealt a significant blow in the war against the trolls, after all. Or maybe, slightly more morbid, they're tending to the wounded through there? Or maybe an evil tree has just spring from the ground and a panicked little leprechaun is freaking out about it? It wouldn't be the first time._

It had been five minutes. _Has he forgotten about me?_ Jahaan wondered. _I'm right here. Like, there's no way he can't see me in his peripheral vision._

Then, the worry he'd kept at the back of his mind started to creep forward and say a friendly little 'hello'. _Am I in trouble?_ Jahaan wrestled through his memory, trying to make a list of all the things he'd done that he knew he shouldn't have done. _It can't be about Coal. That JUST happened. Is he trying to psych me out? Is this some sort of intimidation tactic?_

If it was, it was working.

"You've been here two years," the commander stated, so suddenly that it startled Jahaan, causing him to jump. "Turnaround for recruits is usually six months. Why'd you stick around?"

It took too long for Jahaan to remember how his tongue worked, and that it was used to formulate words. Words, in turn, formulated sentences. Marvels of the common tongue.

The expectant, impatient glare Denult shot at him wasn't helping him with this realisation. Eventually, he stammered a reply, "Burthorpe and Taverley are fine cities with a lot of innocent people. I wanted to do my part to protect them."

Commander Denulth didn't seem impressed. "Is that true?"

"Yes sir," Jahaan lied. Well, for the most part.

"So you think yourself a hero, huh cadet?"

"No sir."

"Is your story supposed to warm the cockles of my cold heart?"

"No sir."

"Why'd you join up in the first place?"

Jahaan bit back the urge to smirk. "I wanted to become an excellent swordsman, like you, sir."

"Oh, are you trying to flirt with me now, cadet?"

"No sir."

"Good, then stop with the forced compliments, or you'll make me change my mind."

Jahaan blinked. "Forgive me, sir, change your mind about what?"

Commander Denulth replied, "I'm sending you to Sir Tiffy. Whether he makes you a Temple Knight or his shoe shiner is up to him."

_The Temple Knights! _Inwardly, Jahaan gasped. He'd only heard tales about them, It took a beat before Jahaan could stumble through his thoughts well enough to reply, "I-I'm honoured sir, but why?"

Denulth grunted. "Don't give me any false modesty princess bullshit. You're better than most of the cadets here and you know it. I don't like to see potential wasted on some Bandosian brutes.

Jahaan bit his lip, and against his better judgement, mentioned, "But sir, the Temple Knights are a Saradominist militia. I'm not a Saradominist."

Denulth rolled his eyes, leaning forward on the desk, which caused Jahaan to lean backwards out of instinct. "All the shit's I give about what god you pray to could fit into a thimble, cadet. If Tiffy's smart, he'll have the same view when it comes to new recruits."

He took his seal and stamped the red wax onto a signed letter. Even though the wax was still dripping, he handed it over to Jahaan and said, "You leave at sunrise. When you see him, tell Tiffy to send over some more recruits. Those damn White Knights won't allow conscription, but we need the warm bodies at the front."

"Yes sir," Jahaan bowed as he took the letter, and hurried to exit the tent while his head was still attached to his shoulders.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	3. Quest 01: The Temple Knights (Ch2)

**Quest 01: The Temple Knights**

**Chapter 2 - Knightly**

_After a troll attack on Burthorpe, Jahaan's superiors take an interest in him and send him off to Sir Tiffy with the aim of making him a Temple Knight. However, it's not as easy as signing on the dotted line..._

* * *

Looking down at the tiny little section of his tent where his bunk sat, Jahaan suddenly felt very sentimental. This ten by ten square of cloth and grass had been his home for the past two years. He'd had bunkmates come and go, but there he remained.

From under his low bed he dragged out a tattered rucksack, dusted it off, and opened it up wide. All that was inside it was his paypackets from his time in the Guard, alongside a thick sweater and an amulet he was given in Menaphos as a child, just before he left the desert city.

Then, he pulled out everything he'd kept over the years from beneath the bed: a small fishing net, an iron dagger he'd smithed himself, a bronze hatchet, a tinderbox, and a handful of runes for some of the simplest of spells.

After carefully packing all of these into his rucksack, he searched around the rest of the tent for some spare rations he could commandeer for his travels. All he managed to find were stale bread rolls and a couple of bruised bananas. Frowning, he packed them anyhow, hoping the Temple Knights would feed him better than he was used to.

"Knock knock," Ozan called out from outside the tent, poking his head in and examining the lavish surroundings. "You all packed?"

"Yep," Jahaan confirmed. "Are you sure you want to risk coming to Falador with me? Didn't you say the White Knights had a warrant out of you for trying to steal Sir Vyvin's armour?"

Ozan snorted. "I'd rather take my chances with the White Knights than the white wolves on that mountain. I'm sailing to Catherby from Port Sarim, so it's on my way."

Shuddering at the thought of traversing White Wolf Mountain - once is enough for a lifetime; very few people survive it twice - Jahaan agreed Ozan's chances with the Falador army were much better than those beasts. Besides, it gave them a chance to spend some quality time with their adopted troll baby, who as they were talking, chewed at his bunkmates bed linen.

"Seeing Ariane, are we?" Jahaan guessed with a wink.

Ozan broke out into a blush. "Maybe…"

The next morning, they were ready to leave. Well, Jahaan was - it took a few kicks to wake Ozan up at the early hour. After saying his goodbyes to his former comrades, Jahaan and Ozan left the principality and headed into Burthorpe's town centre, making straight for Doric's armoury. Over his time in the Guard, Jahaan had grown rather fond of the dwarf that owned the shop. He was always on hand to fix his dented armour, reminisce about battles since gone, or just share a pint of ale, or two, or seven...

The little bell rang as soon as Jahaan entered the hut, and he was greeted by a jolly smile from the dwarven store-owner. "Jahaan!" his gruff voice cheered.

However, as soon as the dwarf set his eyes upon Ozan, his warm demeanour slipped away in a heartbeat.

"Hey, no! You! Get out! Get!" he grabbed the newspaper next to him, rolled it up and repeatedly banged it on the counter, occasionally pointing it up at Ozan, who stood baffled in the doorway.

"What?! What have I- HEY!"

The dwarf resorted to throwing things from his perimentre at Ozan, luckily veering towards stationary and papers rather than one of the myriad of weapons that surrounded him. Jahaan didn't dare step between them, but he tentatively reached his hands out, trying to calm this particular storm without landing a tape measure to his skull.

"Doric, take it easy!" he pleaded, snapping at Ozan, "Wait outside."

Still completely perplexed by the dwarf's hostility, shielding his face with his arms, Ozan wailed, "I haven't done anything!"

"I find that hard to believe. Now close the door behind you."

Once he was content Ozan had left, the dwarf untensed his shoulders, calming his angry breathing. Putting down the ruler-turned-spear, he said, "You shouldn't hang around with scum like him."

Exhaling deeply, Jahaan straightened his collar out and asked, "What happened between you two?"

"My wife!" he exclaimed, loudly. "He went for my wife!"

"I did not 'go' for your wife," Ozan defended, muffled from beyond the door. "I was just being polite to her!"

From the impact of the hammer Doric threw against the door, the wood splintered quite grandly.

Gruffly, Doric continued, "Philanderin' cad… I won't have him anywhere near my shop."

"Yeah, this does not come as a surprise to me," Jahaan concurred, ignoring the insulted outcry from outside. "I just came to say my goodbyes. I'm on my way to Falador - Commander Denulth has recommended me for the Temple Knights," he could barely contain his pride.

The dwarf shared in his glee too, his eyes lighting up like the distant stars. The glint in them was warmer than a thousand candles. Rushing around the counter, he squeezed Jahaan in a tight embrace, nearly crushing Jahaan's hips as he did. "My boy! I'm so proud of you, laddy. Ahh you'll make a fine knight. Promise you'll come back and visit, only without that good-for-nothin' behind you."

Winking slyly, Jahaan replied, "How about I promise you that he'll never step foot in Burthorpe again, lest he lose one of the two things he prizes the most?"

A smirk broke out on Doric's hardy face. "Sounds fair to me. Oh, before you go, I wanna give you somethin'..."

Brushing off Jahaan's assurances that he needn't gift him anything, Doric began rummaging in the back of his shop. When he returned from the store room, he was holding a razor sharp, beautifully crafted, cyan blue dagger. He offered it up to Jahaan, who's shining eyes were transfixed on the perfect blade, mouth agape. "I've just started smithin' runite. This one turned out the best."

Jahaan breathed out, slowly. He'd never even held runite before. "For… for me?"

"That's right, laddy. Here, take it."

Very delicately, Jahaan plucked the dagger from Doric's hands, holding it as gentle as if it were a newborn baby.

Laughing, Doric exclaimed, "Those things are meant for fightin', you don't need to be so scared of the damn thing. Hold it like a man!"

Feeling more comfortable with Doric's assurance, Jahaan switched up his stance and twirled the blade around it fingers, a trick he'd learnt from a fellow guardsman a year back.

"That's my boy!" Doric slapped Jahaan on the back, grinning from ear to ear. "You're a good lad. Don't die out there."

Tucking the blade in his belt, Jahaan smiled warmly. "Don't worry, I don't plan to."

When Jahaan emerged from Doric's store, he saw Ozan had given the storefront a wide berth. The younger man's eyes shot to Jahaan's hip, eyes wide and shining. "Whoa, is that a dagger in your belt, or are you just happy to see me?"

Grinning, Jahaan took it from his hip and allowed Ozan to carefully inspect it. "A parting gift from Doric. He told me to castrate you with it if you returned to Burthorpe."

Instantly, Ozan pushed the blade back in Jahaan's direction. "Well, I'll cross this off my holiday destination list then."

"Seriously though, Doric's WIFE?"

"I didn't know she was his wife!" Ozan protested, like a child desperately proclaiming he didn't spill the ink while covered head to toe in it. "Come on, we can probably make it to Taverley in time for dinner if we pick up the pace. This pretty face does not scream 'wild camping'."

They made it to Taverley by twilight. At Ozan's insistence, they stayed at one of the nicest little bed and breakfasts in the small town. In exchange for a few gold coins and a couple of pints, Ozan regaled the patrons of the establishment with daring tales of how he defeated the legendary 'three-headed mountain jackal of Nardah' with only a slingshot and some rotten fruit. Naturally, he'd _embellished _a little… the jackal only had one head, and he had a bow and arrow to fight it off. The only reason it was vicious in the first place was that, drunkenly, Ozan thought it'd be funny to throw a rotten apple at it. Still, the patrons seemed to get a kick out of the tale, and Jahaan wasn't about to pass up free ale.

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast for themselves and a half a can of garbage for Coal, they set off for Falador.

The crisp, beautiful weather of northern Gielinor shined on them that morning; glistening dew graced the grasslands that bordered their pathway, while the early morning sun bathed everything in an amber glow, carving out a picturesque scenery that stretched out before them. Along their travels, they encountered many other citizens making their journeys between the two cities. Some pushed carts full of wares and goods to market wherever the market took them; Jahaan had to drag Ozan away by his hair on more than one occasion - the man was like a magpie for anything shiny.

Coal was testing out his little legs to the maximum, determined to keep up with the two of them. The poor thing was barely as high as their shins, so Ozan and Jahaan took it in turns to let him sit on their shoulder as they traversed the pathways. Coal's eyes shined with glee at the excitement of being up high.

They reached the high walls of Falador by twilight, white bricks tinted pink in the evening shadow. Half a dozen White Knights stood watch outside the entrance, with more pacing the fortifications above them.

Suddenly, Ozan stopped walking and passed Coal to Jahaan. With a wince, he hopped backwards a few steps. "Uhh you two go on without me. I'll find a more interesting way inside."

Rolling his eyes, Jahaan pointed out, "I thought you said they wouldn't remember."

"I did? Well…" he laughed nervously. "I mean, they probably wouldn't, but… they have big swords, and after all that walking, I really don't fancy having to make a run for it. You know, IF they happened to remember. Which they probably wouldn't. But-"

"Just go," Jahaan interrupted, shaking his head with a grin. "I'll meet you at the Rising Sun Inn. If you don't get thrown in the castle dungeon, that is…"

Modern day Falador was founded in the Year 8 of the Fifth Age, and with a population of over a hundred thousand, it stood as one of the largest cities in all of Gielinor, and the capital of the Asgarnia region. Citizens came from far and wide to trade in the market square that bustles from dawn to dusk, or to enjoy the variety of inns offering a wide range of scrumptious dishes. The main attraction, however, was the White Knights Castle, the largest fortress in the Saradominist world, managing to stand superior to the castles of the kings in surrounding regions. Though technically Falador was still a kingdom, the king - King Vallance - has no power in the city. As he is very old and very ill, the White Knights gained political supremacy in his absence, and in order to 'protect' the king, they moved him to an undisclosed location. Many speculate the king is long since dead, but voicing such rumours isn't wise if one values their tongue. The impressive military of the White Knights and the Faladian City Guards have long held back sieges from the Black Knights of the North, along with keeping at bay smaller Zamorakian plots and civil unrest spurred from those not content with the vice-like grip the Knights hold on the city.

With a friendly nod to the Knights he passed, Jahaan stepped forward into the perfectly paved, pristine city of Falador. Instantly, the crowds hit him, a pained cry from the blissful serenity outside the walls. Knowing he'd have to be ruthless, Jahaan steeled himself and weaved his way determinedly through the masses, mercilessly carving a path for himself. Though he tried his best to dodge and weave, sometimes a stern shunt to the shoulder is necessary to kick-start the idle legs of lazy tourists.

It'd been quite a while since Jahaan had last been in Falador, but he was too proud to ask for directions. Deciding the main road was doing nothing for his sanity, he thought it'd be wise to try and bypass the crowds by dipping into the side streets and making his way across the city through them.

About an hour later, and after passing the same barber's three times, he regretted everything.

"Ozan better spin a really good tale to buy us dinner…" he grumbled to himself, continuing through the darkening city in what he hoped was the right direction. Coal was already growling with hunger; it took a lot of energy he didn't have to keep the troll from trying to eat everything they passed.

After gods knew how long, he finally stumbled into the Rising Sun Inn, just as the sun had set. Ozan was already waiting there, at the bar, surrounded by two ladies and three pints of ale. Seeing an exhausted Jahaan stagger over the the bar top, he tutted and said, "And here I thought you were standing me up. Thank goodness I had these lovely young ladies to console my wounded heart."

Trying and failing to a muster a polite smile to Ozan's company, Jahaan slumped over the bar and motioned for a drink. "Dinner's on you," was all he said before he closed his eyes and tried to remember what silence sounded like.

Jahaan didn't fully remember the large roast lamb Ozan had ordered for the two of them, accompanied by another two pints of ale. He didn't remember Ozan joining in with the local musician who sang Oh Tales of The Elves three times on Ozan's behest, until the patrons were so sick of it they threw a shoe at him. Jahaan didn't remember the bar fight that ensued, not after the shoe incident - Ozan had shrugged that off with a laugh - but when he overheard someone saying he sounded like a strangled oxen. He didn't remember four pints of ale dotted between these events, or the three that followed. He didn't even remember going to bed, so it was quite a shock when he woke up with Ozan curled up next to him, sporting a fearsome looking black eye and cuddling Coal.

Jahaan's pounding, swirling head, however, did not thank him for it. After revisiting last night in half a bucket, Jahaan at least felt well enough to rouse Ozan. However, he quickly thought better of it - the last time he dealt with one of Ozan's hangover's still gave him nightmares.

Instead, he stretched out his muscles, picked up his dagger and backpack, and went downstairs to eat the blandest thing on the inn's menu.

A hearty breakfast of weak tea and unbuttered bread later, Jahaan was ready to face the world. Then, he opened the door, and shrivelled as the midday sun pierced his retinas and scorched his very soul, igniting his previously dulled headache.

"This is going to be a long day…" Jahaan sighed to himself, taking a deep breath before making his way towards Falador Park.

Falador was home to the largest park inside of any city in Gielinor; thirty acres of lush grass and neatly plotted flowerbeds, all attentively tended to by farmers from across the city. Alongside beautiful rows of multi-coloured petals were many patches of crops that helped feed the citizens of the Kingdom of Asgarnia.

The man he needed to speak to - Sir Tiffy Cashien - was known for spending most afternoons by one of the ponds in Falador Park. It stretched a quarter of the length of the city, with ponds, fields, trees and flower gardens to while away the hours around. The last time Jahaan had passed through, he saw the revered Knight gleefully feeding the hungry ducks half a loaf of bread in the oval shaped pond near the centre of the park, but he'd never dared approach the man before. In all honesty, Jahaan was rather embarrassed to introduce himself. He didn't want to look like a fool, or trip over his words, or his laces, or anything that fate would deign rather amusing in front of one of his heroes.

After wandering the perimeter enough to confidently shake off his hangover, or at least shrink it to a reasonable size, he made towards the oval pond.

Here, predictably, he found Sir Tiffy Cashien sipping delicately at a cup of tea.

Before he started to approach him, however, his eyes caught sight of the six marble statues bordering the eastern edge of the pond. Halting in his tracks, he swallowed down bile that rose to his throat. The familiar eyes of the statues seemed to be following him, staring through his very being.

Taking a long, quivering breath, Jahaan shook his head, as if to physically shake the thoughts from his mind. Then, he steadied his resolve back to the task at hand.

Rummaging through his backpack, he plucked out the sealed envelope and, with as much grace and confidence as he could muster, walked up to the knight.

Sir Tiffy's Temple Knight armour gleamed in the sunlight, wrapping around him like a golden cloak. Despite his age, his physical stature was still rather impressive, and his accolades spoke for themselves: decorated warrior, expert swordsman, and a soldier in the War of 164. Now he headed up recruitment for the Temple Knights, a Saradominist military organisation. Jahaan had always dreamed of meeting the man in person, only hearing tales of his bravery and valour around campfires in Burthorpe.

When Jahaan approached, he was greeted with an astonishingly welcoming smile that warmed his heart. "Good day, m'lad! How may I help you?"

"Sir Tiffy Cashien," Jahaan kelt, bowing his head low. "I bring correspondence from Commander Denulth of the Imperial Guard of Burthorpe."

If he had been looking into his eyes, Jahaan would have noticed Sir Tiffy sour at the name. "Hm. I hope this here isn't another conscription request. I say, I get about one a month, what?"

After motioning for Jahaan to rise, Sir Tiffy carefully prised off the seal, slipped the letter out of its envelope and readjusted his monocle before beginning to read. The natural friendliness in his features gradually returned the further down he read. Once he was done, he carefully folded the letter up and tucked it away into his little satchel, regarding Jahaan with a curious expression.

"The commander has a lot to say about you, young lad," Sir Tiffy remarked. "He thinks I should make you a Temple Knight. What do you make of that?"

As he rehearsed, Jahaan replied, "It would be an honour to serve the kingdom, sir."

"Ah, but we don't just serve the kingdom, m'lad - we serve Saradomin," Sir Tiffy pointed out. As he spoke, his long white beard tickled his chin, and it made him smile even more. There was an air of joy about the man as he fumbled his way around a sentence, sipping his tea intermittently and with delight. "Are you a Saradominist, son?"

Jahaan bit the inside of his lip. "Yes sir."

It didn't fool Sir Tiffy, evidently, as the man raised an eyebrow and pressed, "Are you really, lad? To be honest, it doesn't really matter to me - unless you're a Zamorakian, you can become a Temple Knight. Traditions aren't my cup of tea. Tea is my cup of tea, here. Are you a Zamorakian, my boy?"

"No sir."

"Guthixian, perhaps? You spent a lot of time with them up there in Burthorpe," Sir Tiffy guessed, curiosity growing tenfold when Jahaan said he wasn't. "Well, what then?" his eyebrows narrowed. "You aren't another one of those cabbage worshippers, are you? Son, if I come across another one of those nutrition-guided fanatics I'll-"

"I'm not particularly religious, sir," Jahaan broke in, trying not to smirk at Sir Tiffy's flurry. "I mean, I grew up in the desert, and they have the Pantheon, but I wouldn't call myself an avid practicer of anything."

Sir Tiffy seemed a little perturbed by this. "Not religious, m'lad? Hmph. Rare to see one of those nowadays. Well, better than the cabbage god."

Taking the final sip of his tea, Sir Tiffy took his time to breathe in the fresh air around him, admiring the ducklings playing in the nearby pond. "I've got something that needs urgent attention, but these ol' bones weren't meant for travelling. One of our operatives - Sir Tendeth - is on his way back from a reconnaissance mission, gathering information about a possible attack on human settlements. He'll be sailing back from Mos Le'Harmless tonight. Go to Port Sarim to meet him, and bring him back here safely. He's undercover, so he'll probably be dressed as a pirate. Help me here, and I'll make you a Temple Knight in no time."

Suppressing his urge to grin in excitement, Jahaan once again bowed low. "Yes sir!"

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	4. Quest 01: The Temple Knights (Ch3)

**Quest 01: The Temple Knights**

**Chapter 3 - As Rum Can Be**

_After a troll attack on Burthorpe, Jahaan's superiors take an interest in him and send him off to Sir Tiffy with the aim of making him a Temple Knight. However, it's not as easy as signing on the dotted line..._

* * *

When Jahaan made it back to the inn, he wasn't surprised to find Ozan still fast asleep, and still clutching onto Coal. After eating about two and a half bar stools last night, the little troll had clearly worn himself out.

Ozan also had to go to Port Sarim, so against his better judgement, Jahaan decided to disturb the slumbering beast.

It wasn't pretty, but an hour later, they were ready to depart.

"Arrggg it burns!" Ozan cried, shrivelling up like a prune as soon as the sunlight hit him. "I'm blind! Blind I tell you!"

Smugness taking over him, Jahaan smiled down at his suffering friend. "I won't lie to you - I'm enjoying this. Now come on, we've got to make it to the docks by evening."

Gradually, Ozan recovered as they walked through the city and towards the gates. Unfortunately, in their slightly dreary state, the pair of them forgot the wanted sign on Ozan's head. This caused the two of them to snatch up Coal and make an abrupt dash away from Falador, running long enough and fast enough to outrun the White Knights that began to pursue them.

Collapsing against the tree, the two men doubled over, gasping for breath through raspy throats. Ozan pushed himself off the bark and immediately fell over, toppling to the ground, groaning in pain.

Mercilessly, Jahaan kicked him in the side. He tried to get some words out, but his breathlessness decided against it.

Ozan mumbled something into the grass. Jahaan kicked him again.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming…" Ozan grumbled, dragging himself to his feet. Jahaan allowed the younger man to rest on his shoulder as they limped along.

The rest of the journey was rather uneventful, and gladly so. Port Sarim wasn't far away at all, and the roads were fairly well-travelled, so it was pleasant to see the comers and goers travelling that afternoon too. Ozan was well-behaved when it came to the merchant carts, apart from one from a glassblower, all the way from the Kandarin region. From his wares, Ozan spotted a petite purple and green flower ornament, impeccably crafted. With ease, Ozan negotiated him down to a reasonable price. The man's smile was blinding when he finally held his purchase delicately in his hands.

"It's Ariane's favourite colour," he explained, proudly. "I don't like to give gifts that wind up dead within a week. This'll last longer than an actual rose."

Even Jahaan was touched at the gesture. "I'm sure she'll love it."

Ozan had to pass Coal over to Jahaan to stop the troll from trying to eat his new trinket; it took a spare pair of gloves to sate the little troll's stomach, but the two enjoyed watching him munch away eagerly at the battered leather.

It didn't take too long before they reached Port Sarim. Having since expanded beyond a simple small fishing town, Port Sarim had become a haven for travellers, tourists and merchants alike. Jewelry stores bought and sold gold, magic and rune shops were dotted around the outskirts of the town, and even a battleaxe store managed to make its way into the fray, if you're partial to such a brutish weapon. After all, you never know when you might need a big axe.

Port Sarim was also home to the biggest jailhouse in Gielinor, one that Ozan had frequented so many times he might as well have a loyalty card. Jahaan himself had ended up there one time, side by side with Ozan, but had managed to pick the lock and escape when a lazy guard was on duty. Honestly, the place had the security of a bird cage compared to the fearsome dungeons in other regions of Gielinor.

Naturally, the main attraction for Port Sarim were the docks themselves, providing cheap and convenient travel to many places across Gielinor. Being the largest port in the world, you were only a collection of coins and a few hours on the serene away seas from being on another continent. The clear blue waters of the sea splashed gracefully against the port walls, magnificent ships floating in the calm bay.

On the North Dock were the monks that chartered ships to Entrana. The holy island of Entrana was free to travel to, as long as one didn't carry any dangerous equipment on their persons. It was a Saradominist colony, but in an attempt to expand their 'flock', followers of a handful of other religions were allowed to visit. No Zamorakians, though. That was very strict. Having never tried to sail there, Jahaan didn't even know if he'd be permitted.

The Centre Dock was home to the Lady Lumbridge, in dire need of repair. Once a formidable ship, it was in tatters compared to its former glory. It was a miracle the crew managed to sail it back from Crandor in the state it was in. While the common stories say a bad storm battered it to pieces, the crewmen swear up and down the damage was caused by dragons. Jahaan was among the scarce few that believed their tale.

Also on the Centre Dock were the Void Knights, sailing those who wished to fight against the pest onslaught on the Outpost. Valiant soldiers sailed there every day to stem the tide of the invasion.

The Southern Dock was the most versatile, allowing for travel to many other ports across Gielinor, spanning multiple continents and was on Jahaan's bucket list to travel to every single available destination, from the haunted city of Port Phasmatys, to the ogre encampment of Oo'glog, all the way to the western point of the world with the elven port, Port Tyras.

On the West Dock, pirates made an honest living sailing ships to Brimhaven, where access to other parts of Karamja was possible. This would be where Sir Tendeth was coming from. Jahaan had yet to sail to Karamja, but he'd heard the horror stories. Prior to its colonisation, Karamja was overrun with savages who partook in deadly murderous rituals to their gods. Many of these tribes still took over a large portion of the continent, known for attacking any outsider that ventured too close to their camps, usually with a poison-tipped spear. Needless to say, the pirates were known as the civilised ones in comparison, and that was saying something.

While they waited for their respective ships, the two men - and troll - decided to spent the hours in the next best thing about Port Sarim: The Rusty Anchor Inn. Because Port Sarim is such a major travel hub, the inn's customers were very diverse in background. Whilst sailors and workmen were its main market, many temporarily visiting the Port also stopped at the inn. The inn was popular amongst pirates, who were generally welcomed despite their violations of maritime law. The wide variations of ales and the splendid bar food was what kept The Rusty Anchor as popular as ever; the chaotic pub floor was crawling with guests from every corner of Gielinor.

Despite the hangover, Ozan ordered a pint of rum, justifying it as 'chasing the dragon'. Shaking his head with despair, Jahaan ordered a fry-up and a glass of water.

Before long, Ozan's ship to Catherby was ready to depart, and Jahaan waved him off from the dock. Coal waved a tiny little arm back too, which was delightfully cute. They'd promised to see each other again very soon, Ozan saying he'll made a trip back to Falador in a fortnight or so to see Jahaan as a prestigious Temple Knight, and to allow Coal to spend some time with his OTHER father.

Two hours later and a call was made saying that Shippy-McShipFace was sailing into the West Dock, so Jahaan went out to greet Sir Tendeth. From descriptions he'd heard previously, he was looking for a small, black-haired gentlemen. Unfortunately, almost everyone who left the ship seemed to fit that description. On his tiptoes, Jahaan tried to see over the crowds for anyone who carried themselves like a knight, though potentially still uncover as a pirate. Eventually, Jahaan resorted to calling out his name, his heart filling with relief when a man shot a look at him from the gangplank. He was wearing a cream and brown striped shirt with baggy cotton pants, a pirate's hat atop his head and an eyepatch over his left eye. A steel scimitar rested in a sheath at his hip.

The man's right eye was wild and flitting erratically; he checked looking over his shoulder, and practically jumped out of his skin when someone accidentally nudged into him.

Jahaan tried not to let that phase him as he met the man at the end of the dock.

"Sir Tendeth," he greeted with a humble bow. "Sir Tiffy sent me to you to find out about a possible attack, and to escort you back to Falador. Are you worried pirates are planning to attack Falador?"

Instead, Sir Tendeth flinched backwards, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Who are you? Are you one of them? I'm warning you, I'll kill you, I will."

The knight's hand went to the hilt of his sword, and Jahaan lept backwards, his hands up in a calming gesture. "Sir, calm down! One of whom?"

"Them!" he insisted, growling. "They're coming for us all. Judgement from the gods, I say! They're going to burn us all!"

At this point, people were giving Sir Tendeth a wide berth, quickly hurrying past him without making eye contact.

_Okay, pirates don't exactly have that M.O…_ Jahaan thought to himself, curiosity growing. To Sir Tendeth, he suggested, "Why don't we have a drink to calm your nerves a tad, eh? Some rum, perhaps?"

At this, Sir Tendeth seemed to soften slightly, mumbling, "Yes, rum… rum is good…"

Once Jahaan got Sir Tendeth settled at the bar, buying him a round of the strongest rum, the knight's nerves seemed to calm significantly, and Jahaan felt the courage to say, "I'm a little confused… from what I gathered, you went undercover as a pirate, and they're planning to attack the mainland… with fire?"

Taking a large swig of the rum bottle, Sir Tendeth pushed off his eyepatch and rubbed underneath. "Pirates? No lad, pirates attack ships, not cities. I was following intel on a much bigger threat. One that's a danger to fortified cities, ships, pirates, sheep farmers, old men wearing party hats... everyone!"

Suddenly, a loud, ear-piercing screech is heard from outside.

Jahaan's throat became dry. "What's that noise? Why am I filled with an intense feeling of dread?"

Sir Tendeth grabbed ahold of Jahaan's hand and shook it manically; his huge eyes didn't dare blink, and his skin had turned as white as a sheep. "They're here! They found me! We're all doomed, I tell you!"

Before Jahaan could go and investigate, the front door to the pub - along with most of the front wall - was smashed into rubble by a large fireball that fell from the skies. Jahaan just about managed to avoid being burnt alive by diving over the bar counter, but smoking debris from the explosion still rained down on him, covering him in a thick layer of smouldering wood and ash.

Fighting past the ringing in his ears, Jahaan tried to listen out for that haunting screech over the sounds of chaos and confusion, but it wasn't possible - they all blurred into one frightening melody.

Coughing violently, Jahaan pushed himself up through the rubble, managing to get to his knees before he called out, "Sir Tendeth!"

The smoke impaired his vision, seeping into his eyeballs as well as his lungs. "Sir Tendeth, are you alright?"

A hand shot up from over the other side of the broken bar counter. "I-I'm fine… I just need a minute…"

Jahaan pulled himself to his feet, peered over the bar counter, and confirmed that Sir Tendeth was indeed unharmed, aside from a view bruises here and there. However, he was shaking like a leaf.

After a deep breath, Jahaan braced himself to survey the damage. Unfortunately, those closest to the door when the fireball struck hadn't managed to escape in time. Others further out were wounded, being tended to be any lucky enough to come out relatively unscathed. Three men were already hurrying back and forth with buckets, trying to extinguish the fire.

"I'm going to go out and investigate," Jahaan declared.

"Y-You go r-right ahead," Sir Tendeth stammered, hugging himself. "I-I'll just… um…"

With that, Sir Tendeth huddled into himself back on the floor. _Poor bloke looked traumatised._

Climbing over the destruction, Jahaan struggled past the smoke and ash to make his way outside. There, the extent of the damage really unfolded; wooden buildings were engulfed in flames with people rushing around desperately trying to put them out, while others tended to the wounded and nursed their injuries. The glorious port town of Port Sarim had been broken in half. Almost all of the ships had been attacked by fire - now, the Lady Lumbridge _definitely _was beyond repair, and its crewmen mourned its loss.

Jahaan saw a sailor leaning against one of the more sturdy buildings, dousing himself with water from a well, and approached him. "Excuse me, did you see what happened?"

"I were walking along, minding me own business, when something chucked a ruddy-great big fireball at me!"

Gasping, Jahaan pressed, "Did you see who did it?!"

The worker replied, "No, I were too busy writhing in pain."

"I see what 'appened," a voice from nearby called out. Turning to the left, Jahaan spotted a somewhat scorched pirate - Patchy - taking a gulp of dark liquid from a bottle, sitting on the ground and clutching his leg. "Ow, me bones! Arr, I'll likely be needing a peg-leg now."

"Oh, that's terrible!" Jahaan fretted.

Shrugging, Patchy replied, "It ain't so bad - they be quite teh fashion with us pirates."

Considering this, Jahaan commending his ability to see the silver lining. Then, he asked, "So, you saw who did this?"

"Arr. Dragons, I tell ye."

"Dragons did this?"

"Aye, they be bony dragons," the pirate affirmed, taking another swig.

Jahaan inquired, "What, like a wyvern?"

"Nah, these stood tall like men. Taller. And I swear one of 'em said something," the pirate explained, soothingly rubbing his bruised leg.

"Where did they go?"

"The forest way, I tell ye, but don't you's be going after 'em, lad!"

"I won't," Jahaan lied, quickly making his way towards the forest to the east in the hopes that they were still there. Now, what he was going to do if he did confirm there were, indeed, dragons attacking cities, he did not know. However, he needed to see it with his own eyes first…

Heading into the forest, Jahaan made sure to be as light-footed as possible as he ducked for cover between trees, trying to be stealthy as to not to alert anyone of his presence. As soon as he heard gruff voices coming from deeper inside the forest, he proceeded with increased caution, nimbly creeping through the undergrowth.

Before long, silhouettes emerged from between the leaves and branches that were protecting Jahaan from being noticed, and the sight sent a cold chill up and down his spine.

Just like the pirate's description, the creatures did indeed stand upright, like men, though slightly taller. They were svelte, olive green scales defining their limbs elegantly, but the way their features were sculpted… they didn't look like they were born - they looked like they were carved. Their tucked wings were as delicately decorated as stained glass, but razor sharp at the edges, terrifying to behold. Both of them seemed to be wearing some sort of tunic, black with gold trimming, with an unfamiliar symbol centre on their chest. One of them wore a navy blue hooded cape that draped loosely over his lizard-like skull. The other's cape was crimson, its hood resting downwards, allowing the mohawk of feathers atop his head to blow in the stiff breeze.

They didn't look like any dragon he'd ever seen - well, he'd seen two, so the bar was low - but they were certainly… _dragon-esque._

"Grah! Rage subsides for now. Destruction eases the pain," the creature's voice sounded like it was ingesting gravel as it spoke.

"Yet rage continues to build," the other one contributed. "Someone must still be using the Stone of Jas."

The first dragon-like creature roared. "Then we should attack more. More shall suffer. Mass destruction will ease pain."

"Yes! But we must also continue our search - we must find the Vosk. The False User."

"Soon, Sithaph," the first dragon assured. "The Kalist will bring us to him. The False User will suffer as we suffer."

The two of them ascended to the skies, screaming as they entered the clouds and faded away into the horizon.

Jahaan fell back against the tree he was hiding behind. "Attack _more_?" he muttered to himself. "This is bad. I need to go back to Sir Tiffy."

It took a LOT of persuasion to get Sir Tendeth to even step outside the ruins of the bar, let alone make his way back to Falador. In his paranoia, the man was convinced he heard that haunting screech at every turn, thought he saw their swooping shadows above him constantly. To be fair, the knight hadn't been back on land for more than half an hour before the port was attacked, so he had just cause to be terrified.

Despite it being night time now, Sir Tiffy was still waiting by the pond, a fresh cup of tea in hand, enjoying the evening air.

When he saw Jahaan and Sir Tendeth approaching, he almost spilled his tea in excitement, quickly setting it down before a spillage could occur.

"Tendeth!" he exclaimed, jollily. "You tough ol' cookie, I knew you'd make it back!"

However, Sir Tendeth didn't even look Tiffy in the eye, vacantly staring off into the middle distance as his bottom lip quivered, unable to form a single word.

Sir Tiffy crinkled his brow. "What's wrong with him, old chap?"

Jahaan winced, scratching the back of his head. "He's… a little shaken. Long story short, the threat Sir Tendeth was pursuing turned out to be dragons. They attacked Port Sarim almost as soon as he docked there!"

Tiffy's mouth fell open. "Dragons!" his wild gesture knocked the tea cup over, but he didn't seem to notice. "Are you sure, my lad?"

"Yes sir," Jahaan confirmed. "And not just any dragons - they were weird, bony, almost humanoid. And they spoke! I followed them through the forest, and they talked about attacking again!"

"I say, this is absolutely dastardly! The creatures you speak of, they sound familiar. They sound like dragonkin. Legends of the Fourth Age talk of such creatures. They've not been seen in my lifetime, though, and I've been around for a good old while, what?"

Tiffy stood up and decisively announced, "We will go to Falador Castle and bring this information to some of my most trusted companions. The circle should stay small for now, old chap, until we know exactly who - or what - we're dealing with. Don't want to incite a panic now, do we? Are you with me, lad?"

Saluting, Jahaan exclaimed, "Yes sir!"

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	5. Quest 02: Ritual of the Mahjarrat (Ch1)

**Quest 02: Ritual of the Mahjarrat**

**Chapter 1 - Calm Before The Storm**

_With the Mahjarrat Ritual upon them, Jahaan, Sir Tiffy and the others venture into the frozen North in an attempt to curtail Lucien's latest power grab and reclaim the Staff of Armadyl. But a bloodchilling battle of the Mahjarrat might be the least of their worries..._

* * *

Nobody batted an eyelid when Sir Tiffy brought a pirate and an armed stranger through the gates of Falador Castle. I suppose when you have as much respect as Sir Tiffy had garnered over the years, nobody dares to question you anymore. Jahaan tried not to look too much like a tourist as he marvelled at the battlements, or the knights and squires still training under the moonlight. He reminded himself to act professional - he was still technically on a job interview, after all.

Quitely, Sir Tiffy led Jahaan into a small study, saying to make himself at home while he fetched a few comrades. Also, he thought it'd be a good idea to put Sir Tendeth to bed - the man had experienced quite enough stress for one day, so a good night's sleep was definitely deserved.

Jahaan didn't get much solitude before the door to the tiny study opened and people began to emerge through.

First through the door was Idria, a beige-robe donned Guardian of Armadyl. Her blonde hair was hidden under a draping hood; the crest of Armadyl was emblazoned on her torso. The Guardians of Armadyl were a human-led military order that tasked themselves with protecting the Staff of Armadyl, an Elder Artifact their diety - Armadyl, funnily enough - once carried. Jahaan and Idria had met briefly before; the former tried a weak, welcoming smile, but her scowl shot it to pieces.

Next was Akrisae, a priest of Saradomin and a part of the Temple Knight order, wearing gilded navy and white robes, the star of Saradomin on his chest.

Lastly was Thaerisk Cemphier, the current leader of an underground organisation of druids called the Crux Eqal. His beige robes were laced with green, the colour of the deity of all the druids - Guthix.

_Quite a ragtag band of religions we have here,_ Jahaan inwardly commented. Clearing his throat, he introduced himself to the arrivals as they passed him, gathering around a small rectangular table.

"Thank you all for gathering here at such an hour," Sir Tiffy sat down at the head of the table, placing a quaint china teacup in front of him. He stirred the tea thoughtfully with a little teaspoon. "I shall get right down to it. The Temple Knights have been running an investigation on some disturbances around Gielinor. Such disturbances include, but are not limited to, an attack from dragonkin."

Akrisae sunk into the chair below him. "Saradomin help us… dragonkin?!"

"Are you sure, Tiffy?" Idria placed her hands on her hips, huffing. "This isn't like the time when you thought penguins had a secret spy network and were roaming around disguised as rocks, is it?"

Tiffy's eyes narrowed. "That was real, and so is this. Jahaan saw it with his very eyes, didn't you lad?"

Nodding solemnly, Jahaan confirmed, "They attacked Port Sarim, and I followed them into the forest. They plan to attack again, saying something about the Stone of Jas, and a 'False User'."

Thaerisk closed his eyes, taking a deep, contemplative breath. "Alright. Assuming this is all true, let's look at this logically. We know that the dragonkin's power is related to use of the Stone of Jas - as the Stone is used, their power increases, and they can become powerful enough to wipe out an entire world. These recent attacks imply that the Stone is currently being used, and frequently."

"Do we have any leads on who has the Stone of Jas?" Jahaan inquired. Instead of replying, the assembled group traded uncomfortable glances with one another, an awkward silence settling.

Eventually, Tiffy was the one brave enough to speak up and announce, "Lucien has it."

"WHAT?!" Jahaan roared, choking on the lump in his throat.

"Lucien has the Stone of Jas, old chap," Tiffy sullenly repeated. "We've been monitoring him for a while now, ever since… well, hmph. He now has the Stone AND the Staff of Armadyl."

"H-How could you let this happen?" Jahaan sputtered, feeling sick. "TWO Elder Artifacts in the hands of one power-hungry Mahjarrat!"

Idria pushed Jahaan's arm forcefully around to face her. "Hey, you of all people have no right to take that attitude, alright?"

The two of them locked eyes, gazes that could melt mithril, until Jahaan finally relented. "You're right. Forgive me."

Turning back to Tiffy, he asked, "Is that why Sir Tendeth was on Mos Le'Harmless?"

Nodding, Tiffy replied, "Correct, my lad. That's where Lucien was last reported. Seems like he's moved on now - the trail's gone cold, what?"

"Then perhaps I can be of some assistance…"

Everyone shot towards the sound of the disturbance, originating at the doorway. There, an overly tall gentlemen of svelte build, dressed in the type of desert clothing that was common among the merchant class and many archeologists. His baggy pants tucked into rugged boots, and a lightweight overcoat draped over his shoulders. Grey hairs started to sprout through his brown roughly-kept bowl cut, a moustache and beard to match.

Instantly, Akrisae stood protectively in front of Idria, who instantly dodged back in front of him with an annoyed glare. The former exclaimed, "Who are you? How did you get in here? Guards!"

Jahaan swiftly jumped between the perturbed party and the newcomer. "Akrisae wait! Everyone, this is Ali the Wise. He's a friend of mine who happens to know a lot about the Mahjarrat. I'm surprised to see you here, though. You're a long way from Nardah. And… how did you get in here?"

"An acquaintance of mine was nearby when the dragonkin struck," Ali the Wise explained, "He was the one who told me of the attack. How or why I'm here isn't important as we have more pressing concerns. Particularly, if Lucien truly has the Stone of Jas, he _needs _to be stopped."

"Tell us something we don't know," Thaerisk said, dryly. He was still uncomfortable in Ali's presence.

"I intend to," Ali replied, his tone hinting that he was oblivious to Thaerisk's undertones. "I know where Lucien will be, very soon from now. Jahaan, remember what I told you of the rituals the Mahjarrat have to perform?"

"There's two," Jahaan recalled. "The Ritual of Rejuvenation, and the Ritual of Enervation."

Ali continued, "Correct. I have been studying the stars, and by my calculations, the next Ritual of Rejuvenation is imminent, where the Mahjarrat sacrifice one of their own to rejuvenate themselves. As a Mahjarrat himself, Lucien is compelled to attend."

Akrisae rubbed the bridge of his nose, mumbling, "Lucien… the dragonkin… and now some Mahjarrat ritual? What more could go wrong?"

"I think you're looking at this the wrong way… Akrisae, isn't it?" Ali responded, "We could use the Mahjarrat ritual to our advantage. I am sure there will be Mahjarrat there who will also want to defeat Lucien. Who better to defeat Lucien than his own kind? If you combine your forces with theirs, it might be enough to beat him, even if he is using the Stone of Jas."

Idria laughed a short, derisive laugh. "Are you mad? If you think any of us will work with one evil Mahjarrat to get rid of another, you can think again!"

"I've encountered Mahjarrat before. They're not all evil like Lucien is," Jahaan vouched, humbly.

"And how many Mahjarrat have you met, other than the murderous Lucien?" Akrisae countered.

Rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, Jahaan mumbled, "One…"

Hands on his hips, Akrisae stated, "I rest my case."

Having been rather quiet up until now, Thaerisk took the opportunity to pipe up, "Personally, I think it might add a bit of balance to our alliance. There's a little too much piety around here for my liking."

"Everything I've heard of the Mahjarrat claims that they are of the darkest evil! I will not be tainted by association!" Akrisae stubbornly maintained, as if he didn't even register Thaerisk's remarks.

Ali seemed a little bit put out by this. "They're not all as you speak," he defended, calmly. "I've met honourable Mahjarrat in my travels. I'm confident we could find allies among them."

"Please," Idria rolled her eyes, scowling, "They're all one in the same. War-mongering, power-hungry, dangerous beings that stole the Staff of Armadyl. We'd be fools to try and work with them."

With an exasperated sigh, Jahaan mentioned, "It seems we are at an impasse. What do you think, Sir Tiffy?"

All eyes fell on the old knight, sipping from his little tea cup. After a pronounced yet delicate sip, Tiffy rested the tea cup down and trained his eyes across the room. Everyone waited on baited breath; this dramatic pause of his wasn't accomplishing much of anything, but no-one dared bring it up.

Eventually, Tiffy asserted, "I trust all of your sound judgements, hence I gathered you all here at this crucial moment, what? He may be a young whippersnapper, but I trust Jahaan - he's of good character, I can sense it, hmph - and if Ali here is a friend of his too, we should consider this plan. We need all the allies we can muster if we're taking the fight to ol' Lucien. After all, us humans tried to stand up to Lucien alone once before, and it… well, hmph."

The heavy silence that followed said everything that it needed to.

While Idria and Akrisae bit their tongues, Thaerisk, Jahaan and Ali let relief bubble into their features, the latter saying, "I'm glad to have support from you all on this. As for where the Ritual will take place, ancient texts speak of a passage to the site from a place called Ghorrock Fortress. I can teleport myself there, and you can latch onto my coordinates to join me. Firstly, Jahaan, I think you should seek out our mutual Mahjarrat friend Azzanadra. He's the one most likely to be our ally in all of this."

"Good call," Jahaan agreed. "Where do you reckon he'll be?"

"The Temple at Senntisten is where I would start. Would you like me to teleport you nearby?"

Considering he didn't fancy traversing all the way to Varrock on foot, despite it only being one large city to the east, Jahaan took him up on his offer, saying just before he teleported away, "I won't be long. We'll head up to the Ritual Site en masse."

Once he materialised outside the digsite and collected himself from the headrush of teleporting, Jahaan made from the trapdoor-turned-entrance to the temple. The temple itself was still under construction, though an impressive amount of work has been done in a very short amount of time. Azzanadra must have had great carpenters on his side.

The temple was once part of the capital of the ancient Zarosian Empire, Senntisten. Ever since his release from captivity inside the Jaldraocht Pyramid, Azzanadra had worked tirelessly to restore the temple to its former glory, a shine to his banished deity - Zaros. If the large tiled symbol on the floor and the purple decor wasn't a giveaway, a Zarosian altar stood in pride of place at the western edge of the room. There, Jahaan saw a crimson robed figure with a headdress (that resembled bunny ears, but gods help you if you pointed that out) kneeling in front of it.

Despite being capable of altering their appearance, shapeshifting effortlessly, the Mahjarrat possess a natural form. It is somewhat similar to that of humans, but larger, and about one and a half times as tall. Their skin is tougher, containing markings and stripes, and a gemstone is embedded into their foreheads.

Creeping in quietly, Jahaan tiptoed into the centre of the room and waited patiently, albeit somewhat awkwardly, for Azzanadra to finally raise his head. "Welcome, Jahaan."

Scrunching up his brow, Jahaan asked, "How did you know it was me? Some extra mystical Mahjarrat power, is it?"

Chuckling, Azzanadra replied, "No. I saw you in my peripheral vision. You aren't the stealthiest of fellows."

Making his way to his feet, Azzanadra strode up to Jahaan with a warm smile on his skeletal face, crinkling the stripes that protruded from around his nose. "It's good to see you again, Jahaan. Ever since you freed me from that prison inside the pyramid, I hoped our paths would cross again. Tell me, how is Ozan?"

Looking upwards to the tall ceiling, Jahaan thought for a moment before carefully answering, "He's as energetic as ever."

"Ha! The young man has a lot of potential, if he can keep his head attached to his shoulders long enough to reach it."

"That remains to be seen," Jahaan winked, chuckling to himself. Despite having only met the man once, Jahaan had warmed to Azzanadra. There was an aura surrounding him, an honourable atmosphere that offered trust and loyalty, asking only for the same respect and kindness in return. The Mahjarrat was fiercely religious, almost to a terrifying degree, but having never met a Zarosian before, Jahaan welcomed the opportunity to discuss the philosophy.

When Jahaan's smile faltered somewhat, Azzanadra picked up on it in an blink of an eye, saying, "But you have not come here to reminisce, have you, Jahaan?"

Shaking his head subtly, Jahaan turned his tone more serious as he replied, "Not this time. I take it you'll be heading to the upcoming Mahjarrat Ritual?"

"Indeed I am. How did you come to know the Ritual is upon us?"

"Our mutual friend, Ali, came to me," Jahaan explained, "There's been a worrisome development. Lucien, another Mahjarrat - you know of him?"

"I'm unfortunate to say that, yes, I've had the _pleasure _of his acquaintance," Azzanadra groaned, his tone darkening as he feared the worst. "What's the fool gone and done now?"

"Oh, not much," Jahaan drawled, his shoulders sagging. "Just stolen a couple of Elder artifacts and, in doing so, pissed off a species of intelligent dragon that have the power to wipe out Gielinor. They seem to be taking their rage out on cities; Port Sarim is a lot more charred than when you last would have visited."

Azzanadra's eyes grew wide, and he had to steady himself slightly. "Dear Zaros… I knew Lucien had the Staff of Armadyl, but ANOTHER Elder artifact? Which one, pray tell?"

"The Stone of Jas."

The Mahjarrat really looked like he needed to sit down - Jahaan all but refrained from reaching out to balance him. Rubbing his forehead, Azzanadra grumbled, "This complicates things greatly. He will prove a severely prominent player in the upcoming Ritual. That Zamorakian lunatic cannot be trusted with such immense power. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Jahaan."

"Actually, there's something else," Jahaan continued, "I've got a few… friends may be pushing it, but allies, all who want to see Lucien dead, and the sooner the better. Ali proposed we form an alliance with you and some other Mahjarrat so we can all jump Lucien when he emerges for the Ritual. We were hoping you could use your influence to help gather allies among the Mahjarrat."

Azzanadra smiled, weakly. "And Ali once more proves his wisdom. Yes, an alliance would be of mutual benefit. I'll try and convince those that I can, but even among the remaining Zarosian Mahjarrat, there is no love lost between us."

Holding out his comparably smaller hand for the Mahjarrat to shake, Jahaan said, "Thanks, Azzanadra. I knew I could count on you."

"And I you, Jahaan," Azzanadra replied, shaking the outstretched hand a bit too firmly for Jahaan's liking, but he didn't let it show.

"Oh, can you do me a favour before I go?" Jahaan wondered with an embarrassed wince.

"Anything, my friend," Azzanadra asserted, assuringly.

"Would you mind teleporting me back to Falador? I don't have the runes on me…" he left out the part about how, even if he did have the runes, last time he tried a simple teleportation spell, he ended up in a well.

As if he could read the truth behind his eyes, Azzanadra smiled warmly. "It's the least I can do. I'll see you at the Ritual, Jahaan."

With that, Jahaan was whisked away into the realms of nothingness, materialising a few feet from the statue in Falador's main market.

It was the middle of the night now. When Jahaan made it back to the White Knights' Castle, Sir Tiffy offered Jahaan and Ali residence in one of the spare quarters, to which they graciously accepted. Ali explained the Ritual would occur within the day or two, and he would know when they should arrive there. He didn't exactly explain how he knew, but when Jahaan last saw his little hut in the small desert town of Nardah, it might as well be made entirely out of history books. The man knew his stuff.

Within the next two days, the Ritual would commence.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	6. Quest 02: Ritual of the Mahjarrat (Ch2)

**Quest 02: Ritual of the Mahjarrat**

**Chapter 2 - Return of Lucien**

_With the Mahjarrat Ritual upon them, Jahaan, Sir Tiffy and the others venture into the frozen North in an attempt to curtail Lucien's latest power grab and reclaim the Staff of Armadyl. But a bloodchilling battle of the Mahjarrat might be the least of their worries..._

* * *

Enakhra was annoyed. She'd been waiting beside the Ritual Marker now for hours, shivering in the fiercely cold terrain. Mahjarrat were not made for the winter; her tribe's home world of Freneskae didn't exactly have anything other than 'bloody hot' on the temperature scale. Hence, she much preferred her home in the desert. The only saving grace was that, while waiting, she'd spent the most part of it undisturbed. Akthanakos turned up about an hour ago, not even giving her a small wave in greeting before standing on the opposite end of the plateau. Neither Mahjarrat enjoyed small talk. That, and it was no small secret that the two despised each other. Akthanakos had spent much of his time on Gielinor with the camels in the desert, teaching them to fight and conversing with them through the aptly named 'camlet', the amulet of camel-speak. This association went so far that he began being depicted as the 'camel-headed god', even by the humans of the desert. Enakhra, on the other hand, had spent thousands of years dwelling inside the temple she had built to honour Zamorak. Her god visited the temple once, and did not receive the gesture as well as Enakhra had hoped. She still found the time to capture and imprison her bitter rival, Akthanakos, inside, until he was eventually freed by a budding explorer.

Such acts did not calm the already turbulent waters between the two...

_When's this thing going to start?_ Enakhra grumbled internally, cursing herself for her promptness.

Boredom fueled her intense impatience, as there was only so many times you could count the tiles beside the marker or try and catch snowflakes on your tongue. She stopped the latter as soon as Akthanakos had arrived.

Then, as if karma was punishing her for her restlessness, the last person she wanted to talk to teleported in and made a b-line towards her, attempting and failing at a suave swagger.

"Hey Enakhra."

"Zemouregal," she rolled her eyes. "I don't feel like talking right now. There's plenty of plateau to go around. Go stand with Akky."

Relaxing into a casual stance, Zemouregal replied, "I think I like it right here."

Rubbing her cold hands together, she shot him a look of intense irritation. "As if the Ritual wasn't tedious and miserable enough…"

"You know, you really need to get over yourself, Enakhra," he grumbled, frustration getting the better of him. "You think you're so much better than everyone, just because you're the last female Mahjarrat. Arrogance doesn't suit you."

"This coming from the man who wrote 'This is me. I am amazing' next to his own name when making notes on the Mahjarrat."

At this, Zemouregal froze. "How did… y-you read my notes?"

The smile she flashed was wicked. _Finally, _she thought, _I've found a way to shut that mouth of his._

After a long enough silence to make his embarrassment crystal clear, Zemouregal cleared his throat and tried to pick up some of the dignity he'd dropped on the plateau. He narrowed his eyes and tightly warned, "You know, it's better to make allies than enemies at a time like this."

"Right," she scoffed. "Because someone might suggest, 'I have an idea - shall we kill the last surviving female of our race and doom us all into extinction?', to which the reply will be, 'what a splendid idea!'. Yes, Zemouregal. That's astute."

"Oh yes, you're really continuing our survival, pining after Zamorak like that."

"Shut up," Enakhra hissed. "When will you take the hint, Zemouregal? I'm. Not. Interested!"

Zemouregal threw his hands in the air. "It's literally for the survival of our species! Our child would be the future of our race!"

"If the future of our race has your blood, evolution has already failed us."

Jahaan woke up at dawn, having gained only a handful of hours of sleep. With all that had transpired the previous day, relaxation wasn't exactly in the cards for him. After tossing and turning for about an hour, he finally lulled himself to sleep by counting sheep. A classic, but when you get up to three hundred and two, your brain shuts down out of boredom.

Pulling himself out of bed, he rubbed the sand from around his eyes. The bunk next to him, Ali's, was already empty, and the door to their chamber was open.

Stumbling to his feet, Jahaan dragged himself out the door, thinking some brisk morning air would wake him up enough to begin the day. When he reached the balcony, Ali was already outside, pondering up at the fading stars that were being eased from the sky by dawn's early light.

Ali didn't turn around. He didn't have to. Instead, he simply stated, "The planets have aligned. The Ritual begins now."

Once everyone awoke that morning, preparations were immediately made for the Ritual to come. This included gearing up with armour, weapons and other useful items. Now, while he did have a rather nice runite dagger, Jahaan didn't fancy his chances against Lucien with a fishing net and a tinderbox. Bringing this up to Sir Tiffy, the old knight assured he'd sort him out in a jiffy.

The longer he awaited Sir Tiffy's return, the more his excitement grew. The anticipation of getting to wear some decent armour was like a boyhood dream come true. After all, the best he'd ever worn was mithril, way back in the day. It was incredibly decent, for sure, but Temple Knight armour - heck, even White Knight armour - was superior to that.

His expectations were soaring.

However, when Sir Tiffy returned with three squires in tow, two heaving large, dusty crates and a third hefting a long, rickety box, his expectations were cut down a little bit.

"'Fraid there was a little snafew, old sport. Something about protocol, initiations, yada-yada… long story short, the armoury's off limits to you, my lad."

Doing his best to hide his disappointment, Jahaan watched with quiet desperation as Sir Tiffy blew onto the old crates, an innocuous act that ended up forming a dust cloud so big he started choking on it.

"These here belong to a couple of the knights," Sir Tiffy continued, wiping his monocle clear. "I say, it's been here almost as long as I have. They forgot they even had it! What?"

With apprehension far overwhelming his former anticipation, Jahaan pried the lid off the first crate. However, when he laid eyes on the contents, he gulped, mouth suddenly feeling very dry.

Then, he started to grin.

"I think this'll do just fine."

Jahaan would leave the White Knights Castle wearing his new armour, a full set of runite. It fit like a glove, moulded perfectly to his form. While he thought that mithril was good, compared to wearing runite, mithril was like wearing granite. The mobility it provided was so significant, he felt like he could traverse the Barbarian Agility Course in this thing. Plus, it was so much lighter in weight, and a lot quieter too - no more bumbling about with the stealth and grace of a pigeon. Despite being second hand, there was barely a scratch on it, and no dents in sight. Jahaan wondered if it had ever been worn.

The weapons he had been provided with… ehh…

_Glass half full, glass half full, _Jahaan reminded himself, awkwardly clutching his steel kiteshield and scimitar.

Full runite armour, full steel weapons.

One of these things is not like the other.

Soon enough, everyone was ready to go to the Ritual.

Idria and Sir Tiffy tried, in vain, to convince Akrisae to stay behind and not attend the Ritual - the man was a priest who hadn't swung a sword in over twenty years - but he couldn't be talked out of going, preaching something about wanting to keep a 'close eye' on the Mahjarrat. It was like arguing with a brick wall.

Sir Tiffy gathered a group of his strongest Temple Knights to accompany him, while Idria took two other Guardians of Armadyl alongside her. They didn't have too many to spare, to be honest. Thaerisk rounded up some druids that had combat experience to attend as well.

Fortunately, all the druids were well-versed in teleportation magic and, between them, they managed to teleport the entire entourage in one go.

In the iciest depths of the Wilderness was the Mahjarrat Ritual Site. Technically it was located within Troll Country, between the Trollweiss Mountains, but no trolls had traversed the Ritual Site in centuries. The closest points of 'civilisation' were Zemouregal's Fortress to the west, and the abandoned Zarosian fortress of Ghorrock to the north. Aside from the Marker and a few crumbled pillars, the plateau was vast and empty, blanketed by snow.

Fortunately, Ali had told them all to dress up warm enough, but nevertheless, neither knight nor druid was prepared for just how cold the site was.

"I say!" Sir Tiffy hunched his shoulders. "A bit nippy, isn't it, ol' chap?"

Ali, too, was shivering, despite having detoured back to his home in Nardah for some fur-lined clothes. "This is why I like the desert. Before we continue, I wanted to reiterate how thankful I am to have the support of your forces against Lucien. I fear we will need them before long. These things never go down peacefully. The other Mahjarrat will have their own forces, too. One just hopes they train them on Lucien and not us."

"Think nothing of it, ol' chap, "Sir Tiffy slapped Ali on the back. "We want him gone just as much as you."

Smiling warmly, Ali said, "Come now, the Ritual Marker itself is just up this ridge…"

But before they could walk much further, Ali stopped abruptly, sensing a disturbance.

Then, in a whirl of blue and purple, a bulky looking Mahjarrat warrior in battle-hardened steel and black armour teleported into the fray. A skull emblem was emblazoned crookedly upon his chest, matching the bare skeleton of his skinless head. His sword was about as tall as Jahaan, and looked like it weighed as much, though he carried the razor-sharp blade with ease, what with his frame being as bulky and as statuesque as it was.

If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then this particular Mahjarrat had flattered a lot of large boulders in his time.

Accompanying him were human troops - looking like dwarves in comparison, but they were most certainly human - in similar armour, carrying steel longswords. When looking between the Mahjarrat's blade and the ones the human's carried, they might as well have been wielding butter knives.

The Mahjarrat drove his sword into the snow and rested on the hilt. "So, all the vermin together in a pack, ready to be slaughtered like lambs!"

Ali the Wise rolled his eyes. "You never were our brightest star, Khazard. 'Vermin slaughtered like lambs'? What mess of idioms is that?"

Despite the insult, General Khazard's fearsome demeanour relaxed into a somewhat casual one. He squinted his eyes, leaning forward slightly. "Wahisietel, is that you?"

"What are you talking about?" Sir Tiffy demanded. "Who's Wahisietel?"

Khazard pointed to Ali, a baffled smirk getting the better of him. "He is!"

With a wave of his hand, Khazard cast a spell that engulfed Ali the Wise in stars and glowing white light. In mere moments, it faded away, leaving a olive robed Mahjarrat in its place, red lines crossing over his slightly spiked skull, with a gem in the middle of his forehead.

Akrisae jumped back, aghast. "What in Saradomin's name is this? What fowl abomination have you brought upon us, Jahaan?!"

Instead of answering, Jahaan regarded Ali with solemn, heavy eyes, mumbling, "...Ali?..."

Frowning, Ali turned to Jahaan and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I apologise for the deception, my friend. 'Ali' was a necessary disguise in human lands. My real name is Wahisietel."

The Mahjarrat turned to the apprehensive knights and warriors - alongside a fearful priest - behind him and addressed, "You need not fear me. I am still on your side. Do not waver now, save your holy crusades for later. We have Khazard and his lackeys here to worry about first."

"And worried you should be!" Khazard scowled, "I think you'll make the perfect sacrifice for the Ritual, Wahisietel, just as soon as we've dealt with these maggots!"

Akrisae edged closer to Sir Tiffy and whispered, "Should we get some more back-up?"

"No need…"

This response did not come from Sir Tiffy. Rather, it came from Azzanadra, who materialised just in front of them. Bringing forth a ball of pulsing energy to his palms, he stared down Khazard and declared, "This child is not worth the effort. We can deal with him ourselves."

"Knights, ADVANCE!" Sir Tiffy bellowed, causing his Temple Knights to surge into combat. They clashed with Khazard's mortal troop, black and white melting together as steel battled with armour and, occasionally, flesh.

From their vantage point beside the Marker, Enakhra and Zemouregal just sat back and enjoyed the show, the latter wishing he had bought drinks and refreshments. Akthanakos watched on with trepidation, not daring to get involved.

They watched as Azzanadra sent a rush of smoke to engulf Khazard, seeing him stumble backwards ever so slightly, only to return with a fierce blood spell of his own that Azzanadra barely had time to deflect.

The younger Mahjarrat had discarded his sword very quickly, having enough wits about him to know to fight fire with fire, and that trying to cross the distance of the plateau to charge his opponents with his blade would leave him vulnerable. Alongside his impressive sword skills, Khazard was an incredibly apt sorcerer, casting intrinsic and deadly blood and smoke spells with ease.

Unfortunately for him, Wahisteil and Azzanadra were a lot more proficient, especially the latter, and thus the younger Mahjarrat realised soon on he had bitten off more than he could chew. Nevertheless, he kept fighting on, knowing that all it took was one well-placed, highly impactful strike on his part to extinguish the flame of one of his Mahjarrat brethren, and it would all be over. The Ritual would be complete, everyone else would be rejuvenated, and he wouldn't have to see any of the miserable fools for another five hundred years.

That last thought alone made fighting an uphill battle much easier.

Between them, Jahaan, the Guardians of Armadyl and the Temple Knights managed to keep Khazard's elite troops at bay, allowing Wahisietel and Azzanadra to take on Khazard personally. The soldier's Khazard had bought were incredibly well-versed in melee combat, holding their own against the numbers disadvantage quite formidably. A handful of Temple Knights even fell victim to their blades, and one of the Guardians of Armadyl severely wounded her leg due to a carefully targeted lunge of a dagger, effectively sidelining her for the rest of the ensuing battle. While a couple of druids tended to her, the other two continued their assault on the Khazard troops from a distance, sending precise and effective spells at their opponents.

With a malicious cackle from Khazard, a targeted burst of lightning struck the ground beside him and, from the crack in the earth, a skeletal, ghostly apparition pulled itself from the ground. When it reached the surface, it was apparent that this was Khazard's deceased hellhound - and Postie Pete's worst nightmare - Bouncer, raised from its eternal slumber to aid him in combat once more. Bearing his teeth with a constant growl, his mouth was full of daggers.

The undead hellhound launched itself at Jahaan, gnashing teeth biting and snapping at the young man who fell to his back in shock. His shield fell to the side, but luckily, Jahaan got his scimitar up to protect his head, pushing back Bouncer with all his strength as the dog tried to chew his sword in two. Jahaan shrunk back into the snow, wincing away from the growling and barking monster pinning him to the ground. Then, suddenly, Bouncer fell limp on top of him with a muffled whine before disappearing in a puff of smoke altogether. Looking up, Jahaan saw Wahisietel send him a brief nod of reassurance before resuming his attack on Khazard. Scrambling to his feet, Jahaan readjusted his grip on his sword and went to work on some of the remaining Khazard troops.

Before long, all of Khazard's elite troops were all defeated, scattered and wounded in crimson patches around the plateau. Azzanadra's latest blast had sent Khazard to the ground, next to the unconscious body of one of his soldiers. After looking around and seeing his army in pieces, realisation sunk in.

General Khazard pulled himself to his feet, clutching his wounded shoulder. "Ha! You think I'll end up being the one sacrificed today? Not likely!"

In a flash, he teleported away, the sound of maniacal laughter being the only remnant he left behind.

Jahaan's shoulders sagged. "After all that, he just runs off?"

Wahisietel straightened his cuffs. "Fear not, Jahaan. Khazard may be a cowardly child, but even he is not stupid enough to leave the area at such an important time. He'll return."

Leaving the wounded where they were to be tended to by druids, the remaining forces of Sir Tiffy, flanked by the Mahjarrat, made their way up towards the Ritual Marker. Azzanadra scowled at Zemouregal, the first one to catch his eye, but did exchange a friendly nod of greeting to Akthanakos.

"And here I was hoping Khazard could be sacrificed before I had to bother conversing with you two," Azzanadra cast heavy eyes at the two Zamorakian Mahjarrat.

"It's not going to be Khazard," Zemouregal stated, his challenging glare not flinching against the weight of Azzanadra's. "I'm not having a Zamorakian sacrificed today."

Enakhra joined him, "As much as I hate to agree with this tool, I concur."

Akthanakos protested, "No! It will be Lucien or Khazard. Oh how I'd love it to be you, Enakhra. If you weren't the last of your gender, you'd have been thrown to the Marker ages ago."

"Well, it's not going to be me. Besides, I would toss you to the Marker without even breaking a sweat."

"Your mind is warped by your arrogance, Enhakra," Akthanakos growled. "My power supersedes yours with ease, and I'll take on any Zamorakian that challenges me."

"Please! You were too scared to join in on the fun."

"I didn't see you throwing any punches out there!"

Stomping away from the pack, Wahisietel demanded into the skies, "This is ridiculous. Come out and fight, Khazard! Prove yourself, coward, or face oblivion!"

"_Khazard's not here... Will I do, Wahisietel?"_ the voice floated alongside the snowflakes, sinister and malicious.

Wahisietel's eyes narrowed. "Lucien!"

"_Yes, it is I…"_

In a haze of black and smoke, Lucien teleported directly in front of the Ritual Marker. From years of decay his skin had withered away to nothingness, leaving only the frail, haunting shell of his skeletal frame. The crimson robes he draped himself in did little to shield the emptiness of his body. Yet despite his hollow exterior, he somehow managed to give an imposing, almost commanding presence. Perhaps it was the way his robes flowed that gave the illusion of strength and muscle, or the pulled back lips that showed the ridges of his jaw, or the sunken black sockets of his eyes being filled with an icy green glow. There was a stench of death and overwhelming magic that surrounded him, too.

Zemouregal strode to stand closer to the arriving Mahjarrat. "Greetings, cousin. You came at the perfect time. I was growing tired of these Zarosians."

Instinctively, Idria's fists clenched into tight balls, her vision turning red as she spat, "Lucien, you murderer!"

Lucien cackled, regarding the assembled entourage with disgust. "And what's this? You've bought some feeble excuse for backup with you too. Who do we have… a faltering priest, an old man, and-"

When his eyes laid on Jahaan, they lit up with malice. "And so we meet again, adventurer."

"And this time will be the last time, Lucien," Jahaan didn't care how cliched he sounded. "You'll answer for the deaths you've caused."

"How dare you address a god in such an insolent tone!" Lucien exclaimed, venom on his tongue.

Wahisietel retorted, "You're no god, Lucien. You're just a petty thief."

"Well said!" Sir Tiffy cheered. "Where's the Stone, sneak?"

"Like I'd tell you. The Stone is mine and mine alone. Allow me to demonstrate some of the power these new artefacts have given me!"

With a hand in the air, Lucien summonend the Staff of Armadyl into his grasp with a malevolent sneer. Holding the Staff aloft, Lucien caused a grey skull of smoke and ash to emanate from the peak. It washed over him, transforming into pulsing rings of black and purple energy. The ground began to shake, cracking the ice. From these cracks, the ground morphed into two dozen ice-based monsters, covered in spikes and flashing glowing red eyes.

Wahisietel shrunk back a few steps. "Oh no… this isn't good at all…"

Sir Tiffy, on the other hand, kept a steady expression of resolve. "We'll do our bit if you can hold off Lucien again, old chap!"

Wahisietel nodded. "I'll do what I can, but I fear this will require more power than I own."

"_Then perhaps it is time for us to fight alongside each other once more, brother..."_ a voice echoed through the crisp breeze.

Fading out of thin air came a black and purple robed being; his skinless appearance and tall stature suggested he, too, was a Mahjarrat. He was hunched over, wringing his skeletal hands together constantly, like some sort of nervous tick.

Jahaan jumped backwards as the man appeared next to him. "Gah! Where did he come from?"

Wahisietel hurried beside the newcomer, a relieved smile breaking into his face. "Praise Zaros! Sliske! Always in the right place at the right time."

Lucien's eyes narrowed into slits. "Ah, Sliske. I wondered when you might slink in... but you should have stayed hidden in your shadows this time. What can you alone hope to do against the power of Lucien?"

Sliske's lipless mouth cracked into a grin, his lifeless eyes challenging Lucien. "Who said anything about being alone?"

Teleporting backwards, Sliske held out his arms, and they began to shake and quiver as energy pulsed through them. One by one, six fully armoured warriors were summoned in front of him. Their green armour was cracked and dented, rusted slightly from age, but their weapons, my... they were unparalleled, some of the finest craftsmanship in the five ages. One held a large crossbow with a quiver full of knife-like bolts at his hip. Another, a fearsome battleaxe that looked like it weighed as much as he did. One held a ball and chain, another a curved spear, and another a twin set of warhammers. The last, hooded and cloaked, held a battlestaff. Though they all wore some sort of face protection, one thing could be realised if looking closely enough…

...they didn't have pupiled eyes.

Sneering, Zemouregal drawled, "Still the puppetmaster as always, Sliske. Well, two can play at that game…"

In a wisp of darkness and shadows, Zemouregal summoned his loyal gargoyle commander, Sharathteerk, to his side, alongside half a dozen armoured zombies. The poor being hadn't quite got around to dying yet, it seemed.

"I come at your call, my lord," Sharathteerk bowed before his master, his rocky joints creaking with the action.

Gritting his teeth, Lucien pointed towards Sliske and the surrounding group, barking, "DESTROY THEM ALL!"

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	7. Quest 02: Ritual of the Mahjarrat (Ch3)

**Quest 02: Ritual of the Mahjarrat**

**Chapter 2 - Return of Lucien**

_With the Mahjarrat Ritual upon them, Jahaan, Sir Tiffy and the others venture into the frozen North in an attempt to curtail Lucien's latest power grab and reclaim the Staff of Armadyl. But a bloodchilling battle of the Mahjarrat might be the least of their worries..._

* * *

Soon after Lucien's call, Khazard returned to the fray once more, locking swords with Idria and the remaining Guardian of Armadyl. Seeing him reappear, Sir Tiffy sent his Temple Knights to act as backup for Idria. With enough bodies on him, Khazard was successfully distracted enough for Wahisietel and Azzanadra to focus on Zemouregal and Lucien respectively.

Jahaan's sword cut through the tainted flesh of the zombies like a knife through butter - he barely broke a sweat as he toppled the slow and groaning creatures with almost laughable ease. Even their regenerative abilities couldn't keep up with him, and he soon realised that, as long as he destroyed the head, they wouldn't get back up again. Thus, he adopted the strategy of driving the end of his fearsome blade through the soft skull of a downed opponent, just for good measure.

Seizing the opportunity, Enakhra and Akthanakos wasted no time to start dueling, the former's signature blood magic battling with the latter's ice spells. The two danced throughout the plateau, ignoring all the conflicts surrounding them, no matter how closely they accidentally strayed towards the line of fire.

_Finally,_ they both thought, _an opportunity to dispatch this half-wit…_

The fact that Enakhra was the last female Mahjarrat didn't stop Akthanakos for giving his all - in his eyes, Enakhra had forfeited the right to live when she attacked him first.

Zemouregal went to assist Enakhra - not that she needed it - but was pulled back by Wahisietel channeling a blitz of smoke magic that almost knocked him off his feet. Growling, he countered with a vicious shadow spell, allowing the ancient element to warp around Wahisietel, disorienting him long enough for Zemouregal to follow-up with a burst of blood magic.

Instead of wounding Wahisietel, Zemouregal only succeeded in annoying him, and thus the retaliation was fierce and relentless.

Zemouregal looked with pleading eyes over at Lucien, struggling under the constant barrage of Wahisietel's ice spells. "Lucien, back me up here!"

Lucien flashed a glance in his direction, but said nothing, continuing instead to counter Azzanadra's latest surge of smoke magic with a blood spell of his own. The violent clashing of ancient magicks caused the skies to drip with venom and fire, twisting the snow covered earth into grotesque forms as it broke under the impact of stray blasts.

Behind them all, Sliske directed his wights like actors on the stage. There was something eerily familiar about the undead men he commanded, something that gnawed away at the edges of Jahaan's mind, over and over, but never quite breaking through. It was if he'd seen them before, or at least heard enough stories of them that the picture had been painted so vividly in his mind, he might as well have encountered them himself.

_Stories… that's it!_

Jahaan realised where he knew the warriors from. They were myths, legends, fables. They were stories told to children of brave heroes of old, stories told around campfires to inspire young and promising warriors, stories told throughout the ages.

They were brothers.

The Barrows Brothers, to be precise. Saradominist crusaders who fought as commanders of formidable armies during the God Wars, particularly during the campaign to conquer southern Forinthry. There, they ventured into Morytania.

It was also there they met their demise.

Tales of their deaths vary depending on who you ask, the truth being lost to time. One constant remains, however, and it is a reason that - alongside being heroic figureheads - the tales of the Barrows Brothers are also cautionary ones.

This constant is 'the stranger'.

The stranger that watched the campaign from the first footfall, always from afar, delving into the shadows at the edges of the battlefield.

The stranger that knew power and granted it to the brothers, alongside their weapons and signature armour.

The stranger whose insidious ways corrupted the Brothers, targeting their greed and desire for power that, ultimately, brought upon their downfall.

Jahaan turned his attention to the strange Mahjarrat that commanded the Brothers now, and for a brief, fleeting moment, their eyes met. His lidless eyes were hidden deep within the dark recesses of his cowl, but Jahaan could see the light within them, the spark that drew the brothers towards him like a siren song.

As the zombies were dealt with, Jahaan focused his attention on the ice titans the Barrows Brothers were duelling with. Leaping into the fray, Jahaan slashed his sword right through the heart of one of the titans, causing the titan to explode from the inside out and scatter ice pieces into the snow, melting very soon after impact. He parrayed with another for a few moments, eventually getting the better of the beast and sending it crashing to the ground.

He turned to find a new opponent when, in a flash, a barrelling punch from one of the titans smashed into Jahaan's chest, bringing back painful memories - literally painful - of his time battling trolls in Burthorpe. It hadn't even been a week, but it felt like eons. The agony, however, was as familiar as ever. Clutching his winded stomach, Jahaan fought for the air that had been knocked out of him. The same titan raised its icy fist, intent on finishing the job, but a swing from the giant battleaxe of one of the Barrows Brothers shattered the titan's fist clean off. Jahaan went to go thank the Brother, then remembered the futility in such an action, and instead turned back to Sliske and gave him a gracious smile.

During his battle with Wahisietel, even Zemouregal's ego couldn't swing the tide in his favour - he was being overpowered, and quite significantly.

Zemouregal fell to one knee as a chunk of bone was scorched straight from his thigh, shattering into fragments that blended with the white ground beneath. Gritting his teeth, he fought through the pain enough to glare heated eyes at Lucien and furiously exclaim, "You would let _me_ be the one to be sacrificed, cousin?!"

Lucien didn't even regard him with the courtesy of a glance this time. No, instead, Zemouregal could have sworn he saw the Mahjarrat smile.

Dragging himself to his feet, he growled, "Then you are not worthy of deciding. Azzanadra was right all along - all on Lucien!"

Zemouregal swung around, targeting an impactful whirl of shadow magic at Lucien, who caught the brunt of it. His being absorbed the blow, only injuring him very slightly, not enough to stop him from blasting Zemouregal back with a spell of his own.

At the combined efforts of Wahisietel, Azzanadra and Zemouregal, Lucien was starting to show some signs of weakening, the internal power within him degrading the longer he kept away from an active source.

Realising this, and seeing how preoccupied the other Mahjarrat had made Lucien, Jahaan saw an opening. Darting behind the Ritual Marker, he eyed up at Lucien's skeletal dome. Sheathing his scimitar and dropping his cumbersome kiteshield, he stealthily withdraw his dagger from its holder, testing the heavy grip in his gloved hand. His red-hot eyes burned a hole through the back of Lucien's head, scorching a target, a cross to aim for.

_Lucien may be a Mahjarrat, he may have god-like powers… but no-one can survive a knife through the skull._

That's what he kept telling himself as he steadied his grip, replaying the face of everyone Lucien had slain in the chasm that day. The faces of the statues that glared down at him in Falador Park.

Cyrisus, the former adventurer that Jahaan nursed back to health after a battle wound.

Hazelmere, the gnome mage who foresaw his own death, but used his one chance to escape alive to, instead, sacrifice himself to save Jahaan.

Turael, the Slayer Master who first taught Jahaan about the skill of monster slaying and planned to retire soon.

Harrallak, the owner of the Warrior's Guild and one of the most accomplished swordsman of the Fifth Age.

Mazchna, the demon who fought under Turael and, in his early life, chased away all the other demons in Morytania. Unlike most of his race, he strove to be an honourable person.

Lassyai, a Guardian of Armadyl that had spent her entire life in service to the protection of the Staff, who then died whilst valiantly fighting to reclaim it.

All of these people gave up their life for Jahaan, all to keep Lucien at bay. Now, finally, Jahaan could avenge them.

Without thinking twice, he surged forward towards the preoccupied Mahjarrat. Leaping upwards, he held his dagger high in the air, ready to bolt down the second he was in the perfect position. At the sudden movement, Azzanadra, Wahisteil and Zemouregal inadvertently betrayed Jahaan's attack by flitting their eyes in his direction, their magic faltering. Seeing this, Lucien swung around, glaring upwards at the seething Jahaan who was preparing to put a blade through his skull. Out of more luck than reflex, Lucien swayed his head just in time to avoid the killing blow, but didn't get out of range entirely. Instead of his head, Jahaan buried the blade deep into Lucien's shoulder.

Roaring in agony, Lucien stumbled backwards into the Marker, clutching the crimson wound. Furiously, he plucked the dagger from his shoulder with a sickening squelch, and tossed it to the ground. Jahaan, almost paralysed in shock, didn't have it in him to react as Lucien stormed his way, snatched him by the throat and launched him across the battlefield. He landed near to Sir Tiffy in an undignified, snowy heap.

"ENOUGH!" Lucien bellowed, protruding an immense wave of energy that rocked the ground beneath his feet, causing everyone in a radius to lose their balance and fall victim to gravity, landing on the snow beneath them. "I'm bored of your pathetic attempts to stop me. Besides, there are more pressing matters: the Ritual is upon us, and I must choose the sacrifice."

Picking herself up off the ground, Enakhra boldly contended, "No, Lucien. You may well be the most powerful, but you alone do not decide who faces oblivion."

"Fool! That's exactly what it means! My power gives me the right to do as I please. No one can stop me! Dare you toil like these cretins have?"

Suddenly, Enakhra's confident demeanour crumbled. She stammered in reply, "N-No… of course not! I… I wasn't questioning your power… I was merely suggesting we think this through. Who dies here affects us all."

Lucien sniffed a scornful laugh. "Oh, and whom might you suggest?"

"I want it to be Akthanakos."

"Then it's a shame no one listens to you," Akthanakos retorted, flashing his teeth.

Zemouregal implored, "Lucien, ignore this pathetic chattering. It doesn't matter who you pick, as long as it's one of the Zarosian scum."

He gestured towards Azzanadra, Sliske, Wahisietel and Akthanakos, who were standing to the east of the Ritual Marker.

"Yes, any of these fools will suffice!" General Khazard concurred, "Why not Wahisietel?"

Wahisietel roared a vicious laugh. "HA! You two are lucky to have lived this long. You're weak, and the weak will not survive."

Zemouregal snapped back, "That's rich coming from you, Wahisietel. You're almost pathetic as camel-man over here."

"Hey!" Akthanakos whined, indignantly. Enakhra could only laugh.

"You call me pathetic?" Wahisietel began to counter, "Tell me, Zemouregal - how goes the invasion of Varrock?"

Zemagoural shot him a dirty look, grumbling, "I'll get it one of these days…"

"And you, Khazard. Still at war with those pesky gnomes?"

Khazard looked away, almost shamefully.

"I rest my case," Wahisietel was awfully satisfied with himself. "Besides, there is more at stake here than you realise. It MUST be Lucien!"

Azzanadra piped up, "He's right. Lucien cannot be trusted with that sort of power. He must be the sacrifice."

"ENOUGH GAMES!" Lucien heatedly boomed, raising his good arm to the sky. "I'm tired of your petty squabbling. I shall be the one to decide! Only I have the power of a GOD! BEHOLD!"

Materialising in front of Lucien was a large sphere of crumbling rock fragments, shaking and shifting constantly as energy pulsed between the cracks. It appeared on a decayed stone plinth, and given this, stood taller than Lucien himself. Reaching forward, Lucien placed his skeletal palm on the Stone, sneering as the power flowed through the very essence of his being.

"The Stone of Jas!" Akrisae gasped, cowering backwards in awe of the mighty Elder Artifact and the madman Mahjarrat touching it.

"NO! It is mine! The Stone of Lucien!" Lucien snapped, loud enough to cause a rift in the world. "It is aligned to me! Useful to no other while I still live! None can stand against me! I AM A GOD!"

Then, a scream that could tear a rift in the entire UNIVERSE shot through the skies, echoing off the harsh winter and reverberating endlessly into the void.

From the air descended Sithaph and Strisath, death haunting their rageful eyes.

"You are no god, False User, just another fool who believes they can manipulate the power of the Stone," Sithaph spat, the words croaking and rattling in his throat.

Sir Tiffy hurried to Jahaan's side, "I say! Could these be dragonkin you spoke of?"

Eyes transfixed on the dragonkin, Jahaan gulped, praying to whatever deity that would listen for the beasts' gaze never to reach his own. "Yep, that's them…"

Idria, on the other hand, didn't seem all too phased by the arrival of the dragonkin. "Whatever they are, it sounds like they're here for the same reason we are. We may be on the same side…"

"Idria, wait!" Akrisae hissed, holding out a hand to stop her, but his feet felt like they were frozen to the snow.

Striding up to the dragonkin, Idria bowed lowly before addressing, "Excuse me, Guardians of the Stone?"

The two dragonkin, conversing among themselves, did not notice her approach.

"The False User does not know he called us?" Sithaph queried, his voice as monotone as ever, like every word was an inconvenience.

"No, he is oblivious," Strisath confirmed.

"He still uses the Stone. I feel my rage growing."

Clearing her throat, Idria spoke a little louder this time. "Pardon me, dragonkin?"

"It grows in me too," Strisath concurred. "I feel the need to destroy the False User."

"I am in agreement."

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Idria interjected, her tone clipped with growing impatience. "But we're here to stop Lucien too. We could join forces, and-"

Strisath finally turned his reptilian head towards Idria, his eyes burning into her. Suddenly, Idria realised she had made a grave mistake. "The little creature addresses us. It angers me. It too?"

Sithaph nodded. "Yes. Those before us should know that ALL will suffer now we are unleashed!"

"NO, WAIT!"

Somehow, Akrisae had found his feet, and charged towards the dragonkin. Paralysed in fear, Idria couldn't even fathom movement as the dragonkin reared on its hind legs and readied a fireball, roaring in fury. He threw Idria out the way with strength he didn't even know he had, launching her into the bitterly cold snow as scorching flames engulfed his body.

The screaming, mercifully, didn't last more than a few agonsing seconds before Akrisae was turned to nothing more than charred ash, contrasting sickeningly against the white snow beneath him.

Jahaan, Tiffy and the others watched in abject horror. Even some of the Mahjarrat were trembling at this point.

Lucien's eyes darted wildly around the plateau, begging for an escape. It was then, however, that he realised many of the gatherers were turning to him for a response.

So, swallowing hard, he clutched the Staff of Armadyl even tighter in his grasp and remarked, "An interesting display of power, but it does not compare to my own."

Strisath glared through him. "Beware, False User - your power is taken from the Stone, our power IS the Stone."

Sithaph clenched his clawed hands into balled fists. "Your destruction is at hand, fool."

Bellowing a laugh, Lucien challenged, "YOU are the fool! You DARE mock the power of Lucien?!"

Though it was incredibly hard to tell from the structure of his abnormal jaw, Jahaan could have sworn he saw a glint of a smile on Sithaph's face. That was the most terrifying thing of all. "We dare."

To his credit, Lucien was brave enough - or stupid enough - to charge the dragonkin head on. Instead of summoning an attack from the Staff of Armadyl, however, he tried to swing the spiked end at Strisath, who effortlessly dodged out of the way. Sithaph, on the other hand, was a little slower in his reactions and caught the rebound swing from Lucien straight into the ridge of bony wing. Staggering sideways slightly, Sithaph's eyes flashed fire, and he sent a surge of it at Lucien, who just about dove to the ground in time.

Picking him from the ground, Strisath carried Lucien with a vice-like grip around his throat, strangling the Mahjarrat, who's legs flailed helplessly in the air. Dropping the Staff on instinct, Lucien fought in vain to break Strisath's hold, using what little oxygen he had left to beg for assistance.

None was offered.

No, everyone stood as far back as they could, but their eyes were still fixated on the horrors unfolding in front of them.

Balling his fists, Lucien concentrated with every ounce of mental strength he had on channeling the power coursing through him. With a mighty shout, a burst of dark energy exploded form him, knocking Strisath to the ground. However, Lucien was too foolish to capitalise, taking a moment to appreciate the awe he had inspired among his fellow Mahjarrat and other bystanders. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Sithaph flew in and tackled Lucien to the ground, biting a chunk out of the Mahjarrat's armour, chewing it briefly and spitting it out like it was a grape seed.

Sithaph then dragged Lucien to his knees by the scruff of his collar, proceeding to toss him violently into the Ritual Marker a good twenty feet away. Lucien careened into it head first, splitting his skull open upon impact. With horror, Lucien ghosted a hand towards the crack in his head. The Mahjarrat tried to stagger to his feet, using the Ritual Marker to pull himself to his knees. When he turned around, however, Strisath was on top of him. Claws pierced into Lucien's thighs as the dragonkin pinned him down, causing the Mahjarrat to scream in agony. He swiped and swatted desperately at Strisath, struggling to fight against the dragonkin's weight. But before he could mount a steady retaliation, Strisath raised a dagger-like fist full of claws high into the air. Plunging them down into Lucien's chest, they cut through his armour like it wasn't there at all. Twisting inside of him, Strisath wrapped his claws around Lucien's heart and ripped the organ right out of his body, silencing Lucien's haunting screams once and for all as the life vanished from his eyes.

As soon as it did, the Ritual Marker started to shake, crying out a whirl of haunting, smoking grey skulls from its mouth. The earth beneath it trembled, cracking the tiles surrounding the Marker. The skulls flew into Lucien, lifting his lifeless body from the ground to twist and contort one more time, before the skulls abandoned his body and instead found hosts inside the gathered Mahjarrat. Purple energy pulsed inside their veins, engulfing and overpowering them. They clutched their chests, staggering and swaying as they absorbed the vasts amounts of energy shooting into them. Once they'd taken in all they could, their arms shot outwards, wide eyes fixed on the sky above them as they exhaled deeply.

The flesh had returned to their bones, the strength to their muscles, and their power had been increased tenfold.

"That's more like it!" Zemouregal cheered, feeling like he could take on the world.

Cracking into a grin, Sliske removed the glove from his hand and examined the skin beneath it with relief. "You miss the little things, don't you?"

Stretching out his muscles, Wahisietel contributed, "I feel reborn, alive!"

"As do I," Azzanadra concurred, allowing the magic to dance between his fingertips.

"Indeed. We are rejuvenated, but I have no wish to stay here and share Lucien's fate," Enakhra declared, not succeeding in hiding her terror at what she'd just witnessed. Folding her arms over her chest, she teleported back to her desert temple.

Akthanakos muttered something under his breath, more than a little petrified. He, too, teleported away.

Clearing his throat, General Khazard lowly stammered, "Um.. I too have... urm... m-matters to attend to."

With that, he was gone, taking the remnants of his army with him.

"So, Lucien is dead. Good riddance, I say," Zemouregal stated, managing to sound at least slightly confident in his tone, but the shaking of his hands betrayed his true emotions. He teleported back to his fortress.

"Until the next Ritual," Azzanadra nodded to Wahisietel, solemnly, before teleporting back to Senntisten.

The dragonkin Strisath turned to his comrade, remnants of Lucien's heart dripping from his claws. The deceased Mahjarrat's blood was ink-like and thick, shining with a somewhat iridescent quality. "The False User is defeated."

"Yes. The pain subsides," Sithaph announced, licking his lips. Turning to the onlookers left on the plateau, he warned, "Know this, watchers: we answer only to the Stone. All will pay the price for its misuse."

"The Dragonkin are awakened," Strisath snarled, declaring, "This world will suffer as we do."

Scooping up the Staff of Armadyl, they took to the skies, screaming as they went, until they disappeared from sight, lost to the distance of the horizon.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	8. Quest 02: Ritual of the Mahjarrat (Ch4)

**Quest 02: Ritual of the Mahjarrat**

**Chapter 4 - You Will Know Me**

_With the Mahjarrat Ritual upon them, Jahaan, Sir Tiffy and the others venture into the frozen North in an attempt to curtail Lucien's latest power grab and reclaim the Staff of Armadyl. But a bloodchilling battle of the Mahjarrat might be the least of their worries..._

* * *

Idria limped over to Sir Tiffy, her limbs bruised and battered, a scar quickly former underneath her right eye. "Lucien is dead, but we were too late. The dragonkin are here, and Akrisae..."

She broke off, her lip quivering. She shut her eyes tight, trying to block out the memory that wouldn't leave her any respite.

"I know, Idria," Sir Tiffy placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We all feel the loss for one of our own, but right now, we need to focus, chaps. It's not over yet."

Gathering his shield and resheathing his scimitar, Jahaan concurred, "Sir Tiffy's right, we need to do something about the Stone. It's clear the dragonkin are linked to its use, and that Lucien's lust for power is what brought them here in the first place."

"Yes, and the Stone is still here," Wahisietel noted. "We must hide it away to prevent its further use… or misuse."

"Good luck with that, my brother," Sliske sauntered up beside Wahisietel, his wights absent from his side.

"Still here, Sliske? I thought you'd have left with the rest of them."

"Not just yet. I wanted to introduce myself to our mutual friend," he turned to Jahaan. "We've met before, but I doubt he remembers me."

Jahaan raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, we've met?"

Sliske smiled, cheerfully, but there was a shadow behind his eyes. "Many times. Though it's nice to finally converse without all the charades and masks, isn't it?"

Jahaan didn't know how to answer. "I…"

"My name is Sliske. I've been watching you for quite some time now, Jahaan," Sliske continued, "So I thought it only polite to properly introduce myself. After all, I have the feeling our paths are going to cross again very, very soon."

Scrunching his brow, Jahaan opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Sliske smiled an unnerving, unreadable smile, and vanished into the shadows.

Blinking away the cobwebs, Jahaan glanced at Wahisietel. "_He's_ your brother?"

Wahisietel smiled thinly. "You don't know the half of it."

"He was the acquaintance that told you of the dragonkin attack, wasn't he?" Jahaan guessed, finally piecing it together, though what bigger puzzle he was constructing, he had no idea.

Wahisietel frowned. "Yes. He must have known I would have come to you, to gather mortal allies from the only mortal I can trust. In doing such, I led you right to him."

Shrugging, Jahaan casually remarked, "He seems… alright. I mean, he saved my life back there."

Peering suspiciously over his shoulder, Wahisietel leaned in closer to Jahaan. In a hushed tone, he stated, "He may have saved your life, but I know that Sliske doesn't take an interest in things - or people - unless they serve to benefit him in some way. If there's one thing you can trust, it's that you can't trust Sliske."

Chuckling, Jahaan assured, "Thanks for the heads up Ali- I mean, Wahisietel."

Smiling warmly, Wahisietel said, "My use here has ended. I owe you enough to not betray you by watching what happens to the Stone. I return to Nardah. Farewell."

In a haze of purple, he teleported away.

Seeing the area was clear, Thaerisk hurried over towards Sir Tiffy and the others gathered beside him. "We need to get the wounded back to Falador," he stated, solemnly. "They won't make it out here much longer."

Nodding, Sir Tiffy ordered, "Get the druids to teleport them to the infirmary. Idria, I want you to get patched up too, ol' girl. Thaerisk, you are to return here as soon as possible. I need your help with our little Stone problem."

"Understood," Thaerisk hurried away to complete his task.

Once the wounded were safely dealt with and everyone but Jahaan and Sir Tiffy had vanished from the site, they looked uncomfortably between each other.

The silence and serenity of the plateau was harsh, a difficult transition from the bloodthirsty battle they'd left behind.

With a huff, Sir Tiffy stroked his beard, clearing out the tangles and ruffles he previously accrued. "Well, it looks like it's down to us two, Jahaan."

"What now?" Jahaan queried. "I don't know how to move a relic of infinite power that unleashes guardians capable of defeating Mahjarrat. Do you?"

Shaking his head, Sir Tiffy replied, "Not a bobbin, but we need to do something with it. Its power is too much for any single person to control, after all."

A smile tugged at Jahaan's lips; he tried to conceal it. "I've been thinking of building a nice house. If there's plenty of space in the garden, it might make for a nice water feature…"

Chuckling, Sir Tiffy wagged his finger. "Nice try, ol' boy. I do hope Thaerisk has an idea, otherwise we really are up creek, what?"

Soon enough, Thaerisk teleported in. In the brief time he had spent back in Falador, he'd obviously gotten used to the warmer climate, as he'd foolishly taken off his overcoat and left it behind. Shivering slightly, huddling into himself, Thaerisk surmised, "So, we need to hide this somewhere it can never be found?"

Sir Tiffy nodded. "That's right, ol' chap. Do you know of anything in your teachings that can help?"

Thaerisk pondered for a moment. Finally, he replied, "Hmm… yes. Yes, I think I know just the thing. We can channel a teleportation spell."

Jahaan didn't seem all that impressed. "Any trained mage can teleport. Heck, I could probably do it with the right runes. Is that all you've got?"

Thaerisk explained, "You misunderstand. It's a tri-fold mathematical teleportation spell. We can all hold numbers in our minds. I'll focus on depth, to ensure the Stone ends up deep underground and not in Varrock Palace gardens or something. Tiffy, you focus on any number, as big as you want. That can channel into the coordinates of the Stone. And you," he pointed to Jahaan, "you focus on a simple number, used as a cypher for Tiffy's number. The spell will then go through each of our minds, encoding Tiffy's coordinate with your number, and my depth. Individually, none of us will know where it will end up."

"Blimey, now that sounds like a plan!" Sir Tiffy cheered, slapping Thaerisk on the back. "I may be old, but I can still count just fine!"

"Good to hear. Let's get into position and then channel the spell. You okay over there, Tiffy?"

"Ready when you are!" Sir Tiffy affirmed.

"Jahaan?"

"Same here."

"Then focus your minds… NOW!"

In a pulse of green light, before Jahaan could even register the action, the Stone had vanished into the ether.

Opening one eye carefully, then the other, Jahaan ventured, "Is it… is it done?"

Thaerisk straightened out the ruffles in his robe. "It is. Thank Guthix that's over. Back to Falador?"

"Righty-oh," Sir Tiffy concurred. "I think after all this excitement, I need a nice cup of tea…"

When they teleported back to Falador, the sharp contrast in temperature ricochet through them like a gunshot, making them all shudder. It took a few moments to adjust to the ambient warmth surrounding them, but once they did, they made their way into Falador Castle, nodding to the Knights that guarded the gates as they went.

Sir Tiffy instructed Jahaan to wait for him in the study while he went to the infirmary to check on Idria and the others. Remembering the way, he took himself through the long corridors and thin passageways, ignoring the uncomfortable looks he received on the way, from Knights and kitchen staff alike. Feeling slightly insecure, he checked his head to see if they were looking at a wound or something else protruding oddly from him. Unable to find the cause, he instead worked to hurry his pace to get to the solitude of the study quicker.

Closing the door behind him, he relaxed back against the creaking wood and finally let out a pent-up exhale, relief washing over him. In the warmth and the low candlelight, he was alone.

He was alone, and Lucien was no more.

_So why don't I feel better?_

He'd dreamt of killing Lucien enough times, of finally seeing the wretched Mahjarrat draw his last breath. He dreamt of a dagger to his heart, a spear through his chest, a sword to remove his head… he'd even dreamt of Lucien being eaten alive by the Queen Black Dragon herself.

_Well, this comes close enough,_ he accepted, trying to force himself to smile. It was an effort.

_Maybe praying would help? _Jahaan considered, his heart feeling hollow. That unenthusiastic thought was chased down by a simple, _Meh. Who to?_

Born in Menaphos, he was raised to worship the Menaphite Pantheon, a group consisting of two gods, two demigods and four lesser deities. No-one outside the desert followed these gods, and those that moved out of the land they were born in often turned to other deities, like Saradomin, who was the god of the majority of humans on Gielinor.

Jahaan never converted to any of the other gods. He didn't like the idea of blindly following one entity you barely knew anything about to the ends of the universe and back again. At least he'd actually interacted with Icthlarin, the Menaphite God of the Dead. Despite this, it felt odd praying to a god he'd met in person twice before, a god that called him a friend, with the sentiment returned. Praying to him now would seem... forced... and so Jahaan just let his mind continue on without the comfort blanket of prayer.

However, his solemn contemplation came to a crashing halt when the door behind Jahaan tried to open, jolting the startled young man forwards. Hurrying away from the door, Sir Tiffy entered with a full-bodied chuckle. "You okay, my lad?"

Regaining his composure, Jahaan hastened to refocus his mind on the here and now. "Sorry, I was just thinking…"

Shutting the door behind him, Sir Tiffy stroked his beard. "Yes, we've all had a lot to think about today… it's been a tricky one, hmm."

"That's an understatement. How's Idria? And the others?"

"She'll make a full recovery," Sir Tiffy assured. "We lost a few good men today, but they died heroes, and will be remembered as such. Thank you for all you've done, my boy. Your alliance with those Mahjarrat fellows, and the guts you had charging Lucien like that! Ha! I was dumbfounded, what? No my boy, that was an interesting move, but I like your style!"

"So, can I become a Temple Knight now?" Jahaan eagerly asked, proper convention out the window. He was washed over with a weird, uncomfortable mix of fatigue and adrenaline, and it didn't let his mind tick to a steady rhythm.

"'Fraid not, sonny," Sir Tiffy smiled sadly, patting Jahaan lightly on the back.

Jahaan's face fell. "Oh."

"I'm saying no because you're a young lad with a lot of talent and potential. Tying you to a knighthood would be a waste of you. And be honest with me, do you really want to spend the rest of your days in Falador's wall, ol' chap?"

Jahaan winced, his shoulders sagging. It was answer enough, and it caused Sir Tiffy to chuckle.

"I knew from the start your heart wasn't really in it. I may be old, but I'm no fool, what? Besides, we're a little bit stuck in our traditions, us Temple Knights. We only accept true Saradominists into our ranks."

"I thought you said it didn't matter what gods I followed," Jahaan protested in vain.

Sir Tiffy smiled, wryly. "That was a little white lie. If you were up to snuff - which you are, my boy - I would have found something else to reward you with. You passed my test. Bravo!"

He'd be lying if Jahaan said he wasn't at least a little bit irritated, being used like that. But he'd also be lying if he said that he wasn't used to it by now - people do have a habit of taking advantage of young, naive adventures, after all. However, he stayed his tongue, adjusting his tone to not convey his true sentiments when he said, "So… is that it? I'm to just toddle off on my way now?"

"Not exactly. I do have one little thing for you…" rummaging around the study for a little while, he found a blank sheet of paper and a quill pen. Carefully, he scribed out a little note, but made sure to block Jahaan's view of its contents. After blowing it dry, he found an envelope, inserted the note, and found his wax stamp to seal the envelope shut.

Handing it to Jahaan - who was feeling increasingly like a mailman - he said, "Take this to Fionella of the Legends' Guild. No peeking now, my boy."

With only a mere moment's hesitation, Jahaan took the envelope. Bowing his head, he thanked Sir Tiffy and made to leave for his temporary chambers, hoping it was implied that he could stay another night as he was too tired to start his journey now. However, at the doorway, Sir Tiffy caught his wrist and added, "Oh, one more thing - keep the armour, my lad. It was doing no-one any good in that store room."

Now THIS lifted Jahaan's spirits, taking away the pit of disappointment that had been lingering around mere moments before. Profusely, he thanked Sir Tiffy, bowing lowly as he tried his damndest to hide his grin and keep his cool. Closing the door behind him, Jahaan literally lept in the air with joy, though regretted the clink his armour made as he did so. With a smile that couldn't be washed off, he began to make his way to his chambers. The rumbling in his stomach, however, decided to reorganise his priorities, and instead he made for the kitchen, wondering with glee what delights they fed the knights of the castle…

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	9. Quest 03: Let Sleeping Gods Lie (Ch1)

**Quest 03: Let Sleeping Gods Lie**

**Chapter 1 - Temple Desecrated**

_Jahaan stumbles upon a newly excavated chamber, one that a charismatic young stranger claims to be where Guthix resides under the earth. However, once this knowledge becomes commonplace, many different factions come to a head, either to protect the sleeping god, wake him, or destroy him..._

* * *

Like Ozan, Jahaan took a ship to Catherby in order to avoid traversing the dangerous mountains that separated the two kingdoms - Asgarnia, housing Falador, and Kandarin, where Catherby and the Legends' Guild were located. Catherby was the largest fishing village in Gielinor, home to some of the greatest fishermen in the land. The crisp, clear blue waters of the beach were home to vast amounts of different fish, all plentiful, all delicious to eat or, for those so inclined, profitable to sell. Glorious gold-plated ships were docked in the ports, side by side to the numerous fishing trawlers that strayed further from the shores to catch their supplies of fish. On his way to Burthorpe, Jahaan had spent close to a month on its soft, golden beach, loving the feeling of the slightly damp sand from the retreating tide between his toes. As it was summer when he visited last, the warm evenings allowed him to sleep under a blanket of stars and spend his days among the company of other fisherman, enjoying the past-time together. He made a fair bit of money that summer, selling what he didn't eat to the local fishmongers. A part of him was tempted to stay there longer, almost indefinitely, to save up enough to rent out a small room in an inn, or maybe even buy a residence of his own. For a while he felt he could quite happily live out his life with lazy days of fishing, but he soon realised he was only kidding himself, and the serenity began to grate on him. With little more than his memories to keep him company, Jahaan became increasingly restless, the remnants of guilt from his first encounter with Lucien eating away at the edges of his sanity. Therefore, decisions were made, and he left Catherby for the Imperial Guard. Being back, however, brought with it some blissful memories, especially when that salty sea air slipped through his nose and hit his lungs. With a sad smile, he traced his fingers lightly over the armour at his wrist. His eyes gazed into the far off horizon, a watercolour of blue and pink, blending the sky together in a picturesque portrait only his eyes could capture.

Taking a seat on the sands, Jahaan removed his chestplate and started to work out the kinks in his back.

_I think I'll catch some fish, build a fire, and settle down here for the night…_

It ended up being just under a week when Jahaan finally continued his journey, leaving Catherby behind him as he set out for the Legends' Guild. The Guild wasn't too far from Catherby, but it was still a two-day journey. Following the coastline took Jahaan a little longer than going direct would, but it allowed him easy access to fresh food and clean water. A night's camp by the shore was never a bad thing in his eyes, and the day after, with a brisk pace, he made it to the Legends' Guild by the afternoon.

The grasslands around it were dotted with pleasant little flowers, and trees of many different varieties lined the way. From oaks, to yews, and even an elder - firewood is never an issue on this path. Or, for the most ambitious, elder logs fetched a high price in the right market.

He saw about a dozen woodcutters making the most of the opportunity.

One thing that did puzzle Jahaan though - there was a large crater dug not too far from the entrance of the Legends' Guild.

_Weird… that wasn't here last time I came through this way. Are they digging a new quarry or something?_

Shrugging, Jahaan let it slide as he squared up his shoulders and strode up to the entrance to the Legends' Guild.

As soon as he got close, the burly guard at the gate locked suspicious eyes on him; he tugged on the leash that pulled his dog into view, who maddly started barking at Jahaan and launching himself at the gate, as if he was starved and Jahaan was the only meat he'd seen in a week.

Cautiously, Jahaan slowed his approach. "Um, h-hello…"

"What's your business here, stranger?" the guard demanded.

Wondering what he did to offend the gentlemen, Jahaan hurried to pull the letter from his backpack and held at out at arms length to the guard, slowly edging closer to the gate with his eyes fixated on the angry canine.. "Um, I have a letter from Sir Tiffy?"

It wasn't a question, but that was the most pacifistic way he could voice the phrase. He'd already been almost eaten alive by one dog in recent memory - he didn't want to make it two.

Snatching the letter from his hand, the guard examined the seal closely. Gruffly, he told Jahaan to wait there while he left go inside the Guild. The dog remained, teeth baring, eyes deadly.

Managing a weak smile, Jahaan whispered, "W-Who's a good boy…?"

It did not have the desired effect.

Five terrifying minutes later, the guard returned to his post. Grabbing onto the dogs leash, he pulled him out of the way as he heaved the metal gates open, saying nothing as he let Jahaan pass.

Sending a smug look at the canine over his shoulder, he marched past the beautifully trimmed hedges and into the Guild.

As soon as he entered, an older gentleman with a long white beard and a full set of rune armour met him inside the doorway.

"Welcome," the man warmly greeted. "My name is Radimus Erkle. I'm the grand vizier to this fine establishment. I apologise on behalf of Steven - he's new here. I keep telling him to loosen up, but will he listen?"

Radimus laughed, and Jahaan followed by chuckling nervously.

Luckily, Radimus continued the conversation before the silence became awkward. "I read your note from Sir Tiffy. It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Jahaan Alsiyad-Abut. Am I saying that right?"

Confirming he was, Jahaan held out his hand to shake. "An honour to meet you too, Sir Erkle."

"Oh, I'm no knight - just an old man who loves an adventure. Now, Sir Tiffy sent you here for a reason. Come this way…"

Through a large oak door and two grand hallways, the pair came to a marble staircase, surrounded on all sides by portraits of adventurers of old, famous ones that Jahaan had only ever heard about in campfire tales.

Motioning downwards, Erkle handed Jahaan back the note and said, "Give this to Fionella and she'll take care of you. It's only one floor down. Whatever you do, DON'T go down to the second floor."

"O-Okay," Jahaan, still quite frankly baffled by it all, carefully made his way down the stairs. The darkness started to increase the further he descended, but fortunately candlesticks were dotted around to guide the way. He made it to the right floor, a quiet hallway with a handful of quaint little doors on either side, and one at the end that was helpfully labelled 'Fionella's'.

Jahaan started to edge out of the stairwell, but then hesitated. Looking over his shoulder, then quickly all around him, he slinked back into the stairwell and, as quietly as he could, tiptoed down to the basement floor. A gloved hand made for the door handle...

A roar, so furious and ungodly it chilled Jahaan to the core. The sounds of sword meeting flesh, clashing with armour. A fall, a dive - who knows!

A hand tentatively hovered over the handle of his sword as he toyed with the idea of investigating further, against all sense and reason. That idea was stopped dead in his tracks by a hand on his shoulder, causing Jahaan to swing around in shock.

An unimpressed Radimus motioned to the staircase. "This floor is off limits. It's only for the most worthy of legends."

Guiltily, Jahaan hung his head and trudged back up the staircase, feeling like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

Radimus pointed to the far end of the hallway, watching with a hawk-like glare to make sure Jahaan didn't deviate from his course again.

After knocking on the door twice, a call came from the other side. "Come on in."

The dismal looking room was nothing too spectacular. He didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this… no, this looked like your average storage room. A few chairs were lazily placed at the back of the room, while a dusty wooden desk separated Fionella from her guests. Behind the brunette were a large amount of tattered crates and cardboard boxes, victims to time and age. Blowing a strand of hair from her eyes, she asked, "Can I help you?"

Uncrumpling the note, Jahaan handed it to her. "Uh, yeah… I was told by Sir Tiffy to come to you with this."

Adjusting her glasses, Fionella squinted at the handwriting. Occasionally, she glanced up at Jahaan before returning to the note. Sometimes she looked confused, sometimes impressed, and once she even laughed. Utterly confused, Jahaan resisted the urge to ask her to elaborate any further.

Shrugging, she screwed the note up and tossed it behind her. Jahaan held out a hand, opening his mouth to protest, but Fionella cut him off, saying, "Wait here."

Leaving his mouth hung agape, he did as he was told. At this point, he was just resigned to whatever came next.

A couple of minutes and a large clattering later, Fionella emerged from behind a load of crates and boxes with a two long, thin crates of her own. Heaving it up on the table, she wiped the sweat from her brow and muttered, "I really need to build up my strength…"

She peered around the obstruction and drearily announced to Jahaan, "These are yours, courtesy of Sir Tiffy and the Legends' Guild. Enjoy."

Jahaan looked at the box, then regarded Fionella, hesitantly.

"What are you waiting for, Saradomin's return?" she chided, ushering him to take the boxes from her. Sliding them into his arms, he thanked the young woman and staggered out into the hallway to unbox these 'gifts'.

When he pried them open, he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

The first crate held two rune swords, unscathed and unparalleled in their craftsmanship, with a double-sheathed belt. They put his second-hand scimitar to shame. Carefully, he put the belt on and tucked them into their sheaths, feeling like the most powerful man in Gielinor. Weaponry really shouldn't give anyone such a rush, but man, Jahaan felt like he was ten feet tall. In truth, he was never a fan of scimitars - they were an odd shape, and Jahaan awkwardly found himself slicing too far from his target as he misjudged the curvature of the blade. He noted that Sir Tiffy hadn't provided him a shield, and wondered if that was intentional or not. After all, during the battle, his shield spent half the time on the ground. Kiteshields were so damn cumbersome when fighting human-like enemies. Trolls were one thing, and yes, when he managed to utilise it in time, it helped to protect him against the ice giants. However, Jahaan had always favoured speed and agility - why take the brunt of an attack when you have the ability to dodge out of the way entirely?

In the other crate was a yew shieldbow with about two dozen rune-tipped arrows and a leather quiver. Now, he wasn't a bad archer, but he was no Ozan. _At least now I have a reason to practice,_ he thought to himself as he repositioned the bow over his shoulders and adjusted the quiver

It was when he made it about twenty feet from the gates, the angry dog and grumpy guard in his wake, that he didn't know what to do next. On his way out, he'd asked Radimus if Ozan had passed through, to which he replied that he left with Ariane two days ago, the pair making towards East Ardougne. Deciding that was a good a place as any to start, Jahaan thought he'd try and catch them before they moved on again.

"Hey mate, hol' up!" a voice called out. When Jahaan turned around, he saw a sprightly young man chasing after him. Once he made it close enough, Jahaan noted the man sported a black feathered hat and an unshaven face. His clothing was just as unkempt as his facial hair, and from the bags around his eyes, it was easy to deduce that the man didn't quite understand the concept of a proper night's sleep.

"Can I help you?" Jahaan inquired, smiling amusedly at the poor man that was now doubled over, trying to catch his breath. The young man signalled for him to be given a minute's respite.

"Whoa nelly," he exhaled, deeply. "I really need to get in shape, yes I do. I can dig and dig and dig, but nope, runnin' takes it right out of me, yes it does."

Jahaan motioned over to the large pit the man had emerged from. "Don't tell me you dug that all by yourself."

"Why, yes sir, yes I did! Lost me some five good shovels. But it'll be worth it when the museum sees what I bring 'em, yes it will!"

"You work for the museum in Varrock?"

The man nodded eagerly. "Jus' an apprentice for now, but oh boy, when they see what I've got! Oh boy! They's always laughing at me, you see, for chasin' this 'dream', they call it. They say I'm not 'museum material', but they just don't get it! I here think I've just stumbled on one o' the biggest historical discoveries of all time, yes I have!"

This peaked Jahaan's interest. "What do you reckon you've found?"

"Something game-changin'!" The man cheered, clapping his hands together. "I reckon this is got something to do with Guthix himself! I've been studyin' the area for so long, and I got me some help from those druids in Taverley, and they can vouch for this here energy that be coming from that hole. I uncovered a door an' everything! Come look!"

Unable to resist the curiosity, Jahaan tagged along as the man bounded over to the substantial hole he'd dug for himself. True to his word, an ancient stone door had been uncovered, with leaf-like patterns carved into the frame.

He couldn't help but be impressed. "Very nice. So, what's inside?"

This is where the man's enthusiasm skipped a beat, and a large frown overwhelmed his features. "That's the thing, I haven't gone through yet. I've been trying to open the door for ages, yes I have, but it ain't no use. Maybe I just haven't got the muscles, y'know?"

"So, you want me to help you open the door?"

"That, and more, if you're up for it. Ya see, I ain't no adventurer like yourself. You gotta take into account all the usual dangers of openin' up ancient tunnels… traps, boulders, cave spiders, undead monsters… I thought it might be best if I'd get someone from the Legends' Guild to lend a hand, y'know? And I see YOU walking out, Mr Jahaan Alsiyad-Abut!"

Jahaan crinkled his brow. "You know me?"

"Why, of course!" the man beamed. "Word travels around these parts, yes sir! You're one of Sir Tiffy's men! He only bothers around with the best, you know."

Jahaan smiled, feeling his ego get a little cuddle. If this man planned on charming him into helping, he was doing a good job. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Oh!" the man held out his hand, then quickly withdrew it to wipe some soil off his palm, before offering it again. "Name's Orlando. Orlando Smith. So, you in?"

Grinning, Jahaan seized the man's hand. "Sure!"

"FANTASTIC!" Orlando looked like he was going to explode with glee. He practically leapt down into the hole with Jahaan in tow. When he placed his hand on the crevice acting as the door's handle, Jahaan noted how warm it felt to the touch, almost hot, and it vibrated ever so slightly upon contact. Much to the surprise of Jahaan, and the awe of Orlando, the former managed to heave the stone door open without throwing his back out in the process. Orlando lit a couple of torches, handing one to Jahaan, before they both stepped inside, Jahaan apprehensively, but it seemed if Orlando had abandoned all previous reservations as he skipped into the cave.

"This is it! By golly, this is it! Oh boy, the museum's gonna be so chuffed with me! We gotta take something back with us. Ooo but we can't disturb anything… aww shucks… Still, this is incredible, yes it is!"

Inside, the stone walls were covered in carvings, floor to ceiling. Much of it was a strange language Jahaan did not understand, but Orlando said it looked familiar to him. The rest were drawings, figures etched in time into the stone. Many of the figures had been engulfed by the plant growth, but among the visible carvings, Jahaan recognized the snake, Juna, Guardian of the Tears of Guthix, alongside a giant insect. It seemed Guthix held them in high regard.

In the corner of the room was what appeared to be an inactive soul obelisk, yet when leaning in closer, Jahaan noted a faint hum could still be heard coming from it. Scattered on the floor next to it were broken remnants of vials, perhaps from the early days of herblore. The odd scrap of withered herb could be seen in amongst the shattered glass.

"Hey Jahaan, take a look at this," Orlando urged, ushering Jahaan towards a cracked plinth. Atop it laid the remains of a blade, still emitting sparks. Pieces were undoubtedly missing, rendering it irreparable, even if it was safe to touch.

With a furrowed brow, Orlando muttered, "How strange. What we know of Guthix indicates he was a pacifist; completely against violence, yes he was. The sword looks like it has been recovered, and for it to be placed in such a prominent position... there are so many things we could learn! Still, my mother warned me against touchin' glowin' weapons of the gods, yes she did, so let's leave that one be for a while…"

The two continued to examine the ruin, Orlando marvelling at every little thing he saw. After a while, he called Jahaan over again, remarking, "This here wall don't match the other walls, no sir. I think there might be somethin' beyond here."

Pulling off some of the plant life that had been residing on the obscure looking wall, Jahaan marvelled at the intricate patterns carved into the stone, far more detailed than anything else inside the temple. Somewhat awe-struck, he couldn't help but trace his finger across them. Alas, he was broken from his relaxing activity when the door creaking open by itself. The next room opened out in front of them, the walls similar to the last, but this time grass covered the floor, somehow alive despite the darkness. Six statues holding torches were dotted across the room, automatically lighting themselves once they sensed the presence of intruders. Orlando didn't even get to marvel at his surroundings before a loud groan emanated from the far wall, startling him, and a shrill alarm pierced through the air.

Suddenly, three rock-like beasts prised themselves from the walls, each looking like fractured pieces of stone held together by tree bark. In place of an eye, they had the symbol of Guthix, and each was glowing a different colour. One red, one green, and one blue.

Hesitantly, Jahaan drew one of his swords from his belt. "Orlando, stay behind me."

"WARNING: Mahjarrat lifeform detected. Mahjarrat will not be allowed passage. Retreat before further action," the creatures ordered in unison. Their voices were bellowing and husky, fitting for their imposing stature.

"But we're not Mahjarrat!" Jahaan cried, desperately, retreating back a few steps as the beasts advanced on him.

This proved futile as the creatures repeated, "WARNING: Mahjarrat lifeform detected. Mahjarrat will not be allowed passage. Retreat before further action."

Jahaan steadied his grip on his sword, glaring at Orlando out of the corner of his eye as the man cowered behind him. "Orlando, is there something you're not telling me?"

"No! We're humans, we are!" Orlando maintained, a whimper in his cracking voice. "Please, we mean you no harm! They must be malfunctioning or somethin' I tell ya!"

"ESCALATED WARNING: Mahjarrat lifeform remains. The threat will be eliminated. Retreat before further action."

"Orlando, get back into the other room," Jahaan warned, his eyes narrowing on the automatons that continued to creep up on him.

Desperately, Orlando pleaded, "Please, listen to us! We're peaceful, I tell ya!"

"WARNING INEFFECTIVE. ACTION: Mahjarrat lifeform remains. Prepare for elimination."

Jahaan's eyes grew wide as one of the eyes of the beasts started glowing. "_They_ aren't peaceful. Get down!"

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	10. Quest 03: Let Sleeping Gods Lie (Ch2)

**Quest 03: Let Sleeping Gods Lie**

**Chapter 2 - Invaders Must Die**

_Jahaan stumbles upon a newly excavated chamber, one that a charismatic young stranger claims to be where Guthix resides under the earth. However, once this knowledge becomes commonplace, many different factions come to a head, either to protect the sleeping god, wake him, or destroy him..._

* * *

The two men dove out of the way as a blast of magical energy shot at them, breaking the stone behind where their heads just were. Each of the three creatures seemed to sport a different fighting style, making combat much more of a challenge as they all seemed intent on fighting simultaneously. Seeing Jahaan as the primary threat, they focused their energies on him. The young man darted and dashed between the statues and pillars in the room while Orlando cowered in the corner, praying that if he stood still enough they'd leave him be.

The melee-based monster began smashing the ground in a fury, creating earthquakes that caused Jahaan to lose his footing and tumble to the floor. He just about managed to scurry away before the creature could finish the job and crush him into the dirt beneath them.

_Okay, gotta keep distance until that one is dealt with, _Jahaan made a mental note to himself, sheathing his sword and quickly removing the quiver of arrows that was sticking up out of his backpack. Removing the longbow from around his shoulders, Jahaan quickly readied an arrow and, briefly poking out from behind his cover, began firing as quickly as he could load the arrows. The ones that hit its stone chest simply bounced off, but the ones that caught the bark that joined its limbs together seemed to cause the creature to falter. It wasn't until Jahaan _eventually _(though if he was being honest, _accidentally_) caught the monster right in its eye did he truly find its weakness.

Jahaan kept his distance as much as possible, thankful that the slow creatures could only lumber towards him. It took almost all of his arrows and a lot of darting around the room to keep cover, but once enough arrows pierced through the creatures glowing eye, the light faded and the beast crumbled to the floor, breaking into hundreds of stone fragments as it fell.

With a satisfied and relieved smile, Jahaan quickly dropped his bow and arrow and unsheathed both his swords this time, charging at the two remaining automatons. Due to their reduced speed, coupled with the fact their attacks were most effective at long range, Jahaan could dash behind them, land a few decent hits, then retreat behind the safety of a pillar to catch his breath, before repeating the attack. The magic-based creature managed to catch him as he was heading back behind cover, sending him scattering to the ground. Thankful for his thick armour, no lasting damage was done and Jahaan could roll back to safety before they could follow up with a more damaging strike. Before long, the range-based automaton crumbled to the floor like its companion, leaving only the magic attacker for Jahaan to destroy.

_If I catch his eye, he's history, _Jahaan reminded himself, hatching a plan. A dumb plan, as it involved going right into the line of fire, but a plan nonetheless. Dropping his sword to the ground, Jahaan took the small runite dagger from his belt and began weaving his way towards the automaton. After a few close shaves, he found himself in range and, with a mighty leap, swung and pierced the dagger right through the creatures eye. It recoiled, groaning in distress, before falling to its knees and crumbling into small fragments.

Once the final creature was defeated, the alarm ceased. The silence was beautiful.

Jahaan brushed himself off, trying to catch his breath.

"Wow, that was awesome, mate! Yes sir, yes it was!" Orlando exclaimed, bounding up to him. "The way you took 'em down, oh boy, it was the stuff of mighty warriors, yes it was!"

Too exhausted to fully appreciate the ego boost, Jahaan could only manage a small smile, requesting, "Would you mind collecting my arrows? I might need them again."

All-too happy to be of assistance, Orlando leapt to his task while Jahaan reclined against one of the statues. After putting away his arrows and gathering up his sword and bow, the two men made towards the door at the far end of the room. A small part of Jahaan regretted ever agreeing to be this archaeologist's bodyguard - it clearly wasn't good for his health - but a large part of him couldn't help but be enthralled in the mystery they were uncovering. It was the only thing stopping him from turning back now and going to fish in the comfort of Catherby.

The grand door opened as soon as they approached. With a hand on his sword, Jahaan stepped through first, scouting the surroundings. After a full minute of utter silence, nothing seemed to be trying to kill them, so they deemed it safe to pass through.

However, as soon as they crossed the centre threshold on their way to the next doorway, a large green snake teleported into the room, its golden eyes in narrow slits, glaring daggers at them. Jahaan recognized the being from the carvings earlier in the tomb, realising the serpent standing before them must be Juna, a Guardian of Guthix.

Juna slithered forwards, poised and ready to attack, ordering, "Leave now. You will go no further."

Then, a skeletal hooded figure, draped in black, gripping a menacing scythe, teleported beside her. It was none other than Death himself.

Death drifted between them, his hands out in a calming manner. "Hold, Juna. I know this human. He is Jahaan Alsiyad-Abut, friend of Icthlarin of the Underworld, and thus a friend of mine. What are you doing here, Jahaan?"

"We came here looking for Guthix," Jahaan informed. Then, it hit him. "I take it… wow. If you're here, that means that this really _is _Guthix's resting place."

"It is," Death confirmed. "We are here to protect him from those that would do him harm."

"We ain't here to hurt him, no sir!" Orlando maintained. Death seemed to furrow a brow at the excitable young man. Feeling like he'd forgotten his manners, Orlando hopped forward, his hand outstretched. "Name's Orlando by the way. I'm the archeologist that helped discover this here cave, yes I did. Nice to meet ya, Death! Heard a lot about your work."

Glancing at Orlando's hand, Death pointedly ignored him and returned his focus back to Jahaan. "How did the doors open for you? No-one should be able to gain entry."

"It must be Guthix's doing," Juna stated, a hiss to her words. "Nothing we have time to dwell on now. We do not have long. You must leave, humans."

"Wait, not long before what?" Jahaan queried, now slightly worried.

Death explained, "This place has been undisturbed for thousands of years. When you entered, the Sword of Edicts began transmitting once more."

A lump grew in Jahaan's throat. "That alarm we set off in the cavern… it's coming from the Sword?"

"Yes, the sword is transmitting. It has been since you triggered the system in Guthix's chambers. It's communicating with the stone circles across the world. When they were created, the stone circles were all in Guthixian hands; it would have been a very effective defense system."

Orlando cried, "But they're not all in Guthixian hands now, no sir!"

"Indeed," Juna acknowledged. "It will not be long until this chamber is invaded by our enemies. Guthix cannot be disturbed."

"Would it be so bad if Guthix were to wake up?" Jahaan asked, cautiously.

Death replied, gravely, "Guthix has been asleep for so long. Even we - his closest followers - cannot predict how he would react to the world in its current state. The last time he awoke was… dramatic."

"And if he died?" Orlando piped up, his tone too cheery to be believed. Death, Juna and Jahaan just stopped and stared at him for a moment, as if regarding a child.

"If he were to be killed," Juna shuddered, faintly but noticeably. "Perish the thought… the edicts Guthix bestowed upon this world would cease to be, allowing the lesser gods to return to Gielinor. If that were to happen, another God Wars would undoubtedly commence, tearing the world apart once more."

"We can't let that happen," Jahaan stated, his hand clutched around the grip of his sword. "It's sorta my fault Guthix's chamber was uncovered in the first place, so I'll help to protect it."

"Thank you, Jahaan," Death said, "Icthlarin was right about you. You are a good man."

Juna added, "And if he is here to protect our lord, then we have a common goal."

Suddenly, Juna's neck straightened to the ceiling and her eyes started glowing red. Taken aback, Jahaan and Orlando scurried next to Death, but he assured them everything was alright, explaining that Juna was getting a vision...

An imposing manor located east of Trollweiss Mountain, in the depths of the Wilderness, was the dark fort of the mighty Zemouregal, a powerful Mahjarrat servant of Zamorak.

Inside his private chambers, Zemouregal was staring intently into the mirror, practicing different variations of a scowl.

"No, too theatrical… too cliched…" he muttered to himself, shaking his head before trying another. "Well, now I just look like a horse."

The winged abomination by the name of Sharathteerk barged the chamber, flanked by two dark robed humans; snapping around, Zemouregal's face seemed to be frozen on the horse-scowl, causing the robed humans to cower.

"Who gave you permission to enter?!" Zemouregal scolded, thankful his complexion didn't allow his blush to be visible.

"M-My lord, I sincerely apologise, but this could not wait!" After bowing deeply, Sharathteerk announced, "My lord! The wizards have most intriguing news."

Irritated at being bothered so late in the day, and still mildly embarrassed, Zemouregal urged, "Well? Speak quickly, welps. What is it?"

One of the dark wizards stammered in response, "S-s-sire, the circle. The stone circle at Varrock - it was glowing."

Unable to look Zemouregal in the eye, the other one nervously continued, "And it let out such a sound! A great wailing, as if the stone itself were crying out! What does it mean, sire? Is Zamorak calling to us?"

"A wailing…" Zemouregal pondered. "This is beyond you. Be gone, and tell no one of this."

After deep bows, the two dark wizards hurried to teleport away.

Sharathteerk was elated, in a maniacal way, at least, as he exclaimed, "You know what this means, sire! The alarm of the ancient chamber! Someone has discovered-"

"Guthix's refuge…" Zemouregal finished. "Never in my years did I think it possible. Sharatheerk, instruct the wizards to trace the signal to its source at once. And use any methods in your repertoire to ensure they work quickly. Guthix's edicts stop our Lord Zamorak returning. Imagine the glory of destroying Guthix, of breaking the edicts and bringing back Zamorak himself! Ha, that'll show her!"

Sharathteerk furrowed his brows. "Who is 'her', my lord?"

"Um, n-nothing!" Zemouregal clenched his fists, trying to regain some semblance of his imposing and terrifying presence. "What are you waiting for? We must act with all haste! Go, now!"

Beneath the surface of Gielinor lies the so-called 'God Wars' caverns. There, generals of the gods continue the battle that was started thousands of years ago, oblivious to the passing of time. One such general was Commander Zilyana of Saradomin's army.

A mage had informed her of the activities of the stone circles, causing Zilyana to gather two of her most trusted warriors as they set off from the dungeon of eternal warfare and towards Guthix's final resting place.

"By Saradomin's word, we fly! Guthix will be destroyed, in the name of honour. For the return of our glorious Saradomin!"

The cheers of her army chorused as she flew off into the skies.

Juna's head snapped back down to face them. "They're on their way. Death, Contact the Void Knights. See if they can send a regiment over soon, though I fear by the time they arrive it will be too late. Time is of the essence. I will contact as many of the Guardians of Guthix as I can."

"We must get into the Inner Sanctum," Death stated. "However, the walls of the Inner Sanctum are impenetrable with magic. We can teleport no further. We must find a way to open this door, and I believe this contraption may be the way to do it."

There was a small stone plinth beside the doorway with carvings of runes and other ancient languages scrawled onto it. It was the only noteworthy thing inside the chamber, so powers of deduction meant that it didn't take much for them to figure out that this would open the door.

Or at least, so they thought.

Death placed his hands on the stone panel, but nothing seemed to happen - no light, no sound, no movement. Furrowing his brow, Death grew frustrated. "I do not comprehend."

Orlando's shoulders sagged. "How come you don't know how to work this here thing? Ain't you supposed to be some Guthix guardian or whatnot?"

"I am," Death growled, backing off from the panel. "I do not understand why there is no reaction to my touch. Something should be occurring."

Realising Juna was slightly limb-challenged, Jahaan took it upon himself to try and operate the control panel next. However, when he placed his hands on it, the panel started glowing and growing warmer. When he tried to move his hands, he found he was trapped, like he had been fused to the contraption.

Initially, he began to panic, until Juna calmed him down, explaining, "Do not fear. This is all as Guthix wills it."

A green light engulfed Jahaan as he rose and then returned to the surface. As this was happening, the door to the Inner Sanctum opened.

Feeling fuzzy all over, Jahaan examined himself. "What… what just happened?"

"Guthix has given you his blessing," Cres answered from the doorway of the Inner Sanctum. He looked similar to the automatons from before, only with glowing green symbols carved into his rocky chest. "He has chosen you as one of his creatures, a Guardian of Guthix."

"An honour indeed," a voice from behind them commented. Turning around, the group noticed a small group of white-robed figures had teleported into the previous room. Leading them, a decedent looking druid wearing a crown of leaves.

"Kaqemeex. I am so glad you could make it in time," Death breathed a sigh of relief. "We are short on numbers as it stands."

"Guthix be with you, Guardians," he bowed his head slightly. "I have been in contact with the Valluta. She will be accompanied only by a small regiment, but arriving soon. There is a pest onslaught at present and she cannot spare the numbers."

"Can't spare the numbers for THIS?!" Jahaan cried, bewildered and outraged.

Kaqemeex shot him a look. "What good is a world overrun, hm? No. We will fight with what we have. We are stronger than our enemy, and we have Guthix on our side."

"You have me too!" a chirpy voice came from the doorway. Turning to see its origin, Jahaan recognised it as belonging to Chaeldar, the highest slayer master in all of Gielinor, who just so happened to be a fairy.

Juna smiled. "It is good to see you again, Chaeldar."

"And I," Thaerisk, accompanied by his own druids, hurried into the chamber. When he saw Jahaan, he did a quick double-take. "My, we appear to be running into each other rather often, Jahaan."

Wryly, Jahaan smiled. "I wish it were under better circumstances. Nice to see you again, Thaerisk."

"Well, aren't we just a ragtag bunch, set to defend the mighty Guthix, yes we are!" Orlando cheered. Everyone responded by giving him a look that screamed '_shut up Orlando'_, but no-one wasted their breath on the actual words.

Over the next few minutes, a handful more Guardians emerged, but not nearly as many as they would have liked. Morale was already at an all-time low when a large crash rocked the room.

"What was that?!" Orlando cried.

The Valluta, a giant tortoise and spiritual leader of the Void Knights, exclaimed, "They're breaking in already!"

Kaqemeex fretted, "We're sitting in the open. We have no organization!"

Stepping into the centre of the circle, Jahaan enthused, "Hold up, everyone. Think of it like this: if they're already here then - like us - they wouldn't have had much time to cobble together a formidable offence. All we have to do is hold them off this one time, and we can be better prepared with more defenders if they come back again. Guthix will be safe. We can do this."

Death nodded. "Jahaan is right. We cannot have come this far to be defeated before the battle has even begun."

Fiara, a giant earwig charged with defending the Fist of Guthix, declared, "We will stand and fight! For Guthix!"

"For Guthix!" the room chorused, those who had weapons drawing them in readiness.

"That's the spirit!" Jahaan cheered. "We'll show them what we're made of! First, we need to be prepared for them. Cres what can you tell me about this chamber? Any weak points? Resources we could use?"

Closing his eyes, Cres focused for a moment before replying, "My creations inform me that the points of breakthrough will be in the storage wings. That is where the loud crash came from earlier. There are four of them adjacent to this chamber, and the enemy will reach them first. They are smaller rooms than this. If we meet the enemy there, we will make a better defence."

"Perfect. We should split up to defend each wing. Cres, you take your creations to one. Fiara and the Valluta, another. Chaeldar and Thaerisk, you'll need to work together. Death, Kaqemeex and the rest of you to the last. I'll help wherever I'm needed," Jahaan organised, clutching tightly onto both his swords.

Kaqemeex frowned. "I'm afraid that, unlike Thaerisk, my druids and I have very little prowess in battle. We would be more of a hindrance than a help. We'll remain in the main chamber, a last line of defence, where we can use the plant life around and the herbs we have brought with us to mix some healing potions."

Jahaan nodded firmly. "Then I'll team with Death."

"I should stay in the main chamber to guard the passageway itself," Juna declared. "Then if we-"

Another earthquake cut through the room, breaking Juna's speech mid-breath.

"No time for further deliberating," Death summoned his mighty scythe. "Now, we fight! For Guthix!"

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	11. Quest 03: Let Sleeping Gods Lie (Ch3)

**Quest 03: Let Sleeping Gods Lie**

**Chapter 3 - But We Can Fight**

_Jahaan stumbles upon a newly excavated chamber, one that a charismatic young stranger claims to be where Guthix resides under the earth. However, once this knowledge becomes commonplace, many different factions come to a head, either to protect the sleeping god, wake him, or destroy him..._

* * *

In the first storage room, Thaerisk and Chaeldar stood ready, determination biting back any fears they had as to whom might be charging towards them. From the sounds echoing throughout the chamber, whomever was coming towards their wing was very big, and very slow. It sounded like they were using their immense strength to force their way through the rock. Perhaps they didn't have the intelligence to try any other way.

_Stomp_

_Stomp_

_Stomp_

Thaerisk and Chaeldar kept their guard up, waiting.

Before long, the wall broke down as a giant green-skinned beast broke through, shoulder first, the large animal horns on his sturdy helmet being some of the first things to enter the room. He wore a necklace of skulls, with more being attached to his belt, and any clothing he wore was crudely crafted from something dead. Standing at ten feet tall, this was General Graardor, leading a small group of goblin foot soldiers.

"Turn back now," Thaerisk ordered, his voice a blade. "You will go no further."

The ogre-like beast laughed. "Graardor turn back? Tiny human has tiny brain! Puny balance god stop wars returning. Bandos - almighty war god - desire battle, so Graardor create it. Graardor smash Guthix skull with mighty fists! Graardor be best general of almighty war god! Squishy human and others will not stop me! Attack!"

Despite being a druid, Thaerisk had been trained in magic from a very early age. Against the brute strength and lumbering combat coming from the goblins and even Graardor himself, magic was an incredibly effective strategy. Using the runes in his possession, he cast a fearsome earth-based spell that knocked the general back for six. Meanwhile, Chaeldar dealt with the goblin forces. Even though she was vastly outnumbered, Chaeldar's size meant that she could move very quickly, making her well-suited against a slow enemy, like goblins were. Her weapon of choice was a small spear.

Meanwhile, in another storage room, the sounds of a manic scuttering suggested that there were multiple enemies trying to break through, and the foul stench of the undead could be smelled.

Before long, Zemouregal forced his way into the chamber, with skeletons and zombies behind him, his mindless legion.

Jahaan spoke calmly, with a strange glint in his eyes. "Zemouregal. You're late. Graardor is already in the process of being slaughtered by the Guthixians. You'd be wise to turn tail before you follow him."

Zemouregal roared a laugh. "Hah! General Graardor… I wouldn't be surprised if the lumbering fool skewered himself on his own weapon. I would suggest you stand aside so I may get to Guthix sooner, but I think I'd prefer to destroy you and your weak companions first. A little payback for your intrusion in the Ritual."

With an evil smirk, Zemouregal raised his hand, causing his undead minions to charge forwards, and the battle commenced.

As he was slow and fragile, Cres himself was no fighter. Therefore, he used his creations to fight for him, replicas of the creatures Jahaan had encountered earlier. Summoning an entire troop of automatons, Cres readied himself for the impending battle.

When Commander Zilyana broke through and an entire troop of white knights and Saradominist warriors followed, he felt his chances of victory slip away quite fast. Nevertheless, he was prepared to fight to the end, for Guthix.

"Step aside, creatures," Zilyana ordered. The woman was an icyene, an ancient race of winged beings, and the leader of Saradomin's army. "The glory of Saradomin demands it!"

Creaking his limbs into an offensive posture, Cres stated, "Your god's 'glory' matters nothing here."

Eyes narrowing, Zilyana drew her thin sword and held it aloft. "So be it. For Saradomin!"

One should underestimate the Valluta due to her appearance at their peril. Her shell was near impenetrable, and she had a surprising amount of speed and agility for someone of her size and build. Fiara too, was a fiery opponent, her far-reaching legs and insect-like tail all coordinated into a perfect rhythm, a dance of melee prowess.

The ones to break through and into their storage room were an Armadylian troop, led by Kree'arra, a graceful avatar of Armadyl. Kree'arra was a majestic winged being, feathers of pearl and gold that shone like fine silk even in the low-light of the cavern. He was a powerful ranger, armed with a formidable crossbow. Just as well the two tallest fighters were the ones to battle the ones that could fly.

Kree'arra settled on the ground, his small band of warriors behind him. "You should not be here, creatures of Guthix," he warned, his tone soft and solemn. "It is not safe. Please, leave now."

"We cannot do that," Fiara replied, her voice measured. "Who are you? An aviansie of Armadyl, I gathered, but why are you defying your god's code of justice and peace in favour of your intrusion here today?"

Exhaling a heavy, weighted breath, Kree'arra responded, "Believe us, bloodshed should always be the last resort… but Guthix is preventing Armadyl's return. He… he has been missing for so long now. I find myself unable to recall his face to describe him."

The Valluta declared, "I know of your kind, friend. You do not have to continue here today. Leave, and uphold your god's principles. It is what he would want."

There was a long, drawn-out pause, and even the avanasie warriors behind him actually believed Kree'arra was considering it. Alas, instead he withdrew his crossbow and steadied his gaze. "I'm sorry, but this is the way it has to be… for Armadyl…"

It didn't take long before Jahaan could coax Zemouregal to fight on his level; knowing he was at a slight disadvantage battling magic with a couple of swords, he goaded the Mahjarrat into duelling with him on his level.

"You think that your blue toothpicks stand a chance against me?" Zemagoural had challenged, summoning a black and steel two-handed blade into his palms.

Granted, Zemouregal was a skilled swordsman with great prowess, but he was a better mage. Now, Jahaan had a fighting chance.

While Death focused on the undead army, Jahaan did his best to keep Zemouregal at bay. Much to his relief and, frankly, surprise, he was succeeding.

The two of them leapt forward, their swords connecting with a fearsome clash. Zemouregal managed to have the strength advantage against Jahaan, pushing him backwards and gaining the upper hand almost instantly. Jahaan rolled out of the way as the black sword struck down into the space he'd occupied almost a millisecond ago. Each strike of sword on sword roared with a pugnacious applause.

The two clashed for ages, Zemouregal growing increasingly furious at his inability to land a killing blow on Jahaan. Unfortunately for him, this led to reckless attacks, misplaced swings and lunges that were far from the mark.

Zemouregal swiped for Jahaan's neck, but the young man caught it with his two smaller blades and twisted the sword from Zemouregal's grip. Using the momentary shock to his advantage, Jahaan sliced a deep cut into Zemouregal's thigh, causing the Mahjarrat to crumble to the ground. Before he knew what was happening, Jahaan had one sword trained at his throat and the other raised directly above his chest.

"Wait!" Zemouregal cried out as Jahaan went to drive the blade into his heart. Fighting for composure, Zemouregal took several deep breaths. "Fine. You win. Your precious God of Balance can live another day."

Jahaan smiled, smugly. "Nice seeing you again, Zemouregal. Let's do this again sometime."

"You can count on it, mortal."

Death escorted him to the next chamber, where he could teleport away without the magic restrictions surrounding the current wing. As soon as he was comfortable at seeing him retreat - feeling the pride that comes with small victories - that happiness was cut in half with the sound of a crash and then a great many footsteps clattering into the main chamber. Quickly, Death and Jahaan hurried in to see Commander Zilyana and her Saradominist forces engaging the druids, Chaeldar and Thaerisk in combat.

"The Bandosians were a piece of monkfish!" Chaeldar declared, nimbly weaving her way between a Saradominist's attacks. They came a little too close for comfort; she resorted to blocking with her blade, but physical strength was not on her side. "These critters, not so much."

Juna added, "Thank goodness you made when you did."

Charging forward to lock swords with one of the Saradominist soldiers, Jahaan remembered that Cres was defending the wing that had been breached, and imagining the worst, worriedly inquired, "What of Cres and his creations?"

Kaqemeex was tending to a wounded druid when he replied, "My druids are tending to him, but being made of stone and bark instead of flesh and blood, there is little we can do to help him…"

"And the Void Knights?"

"Still fighting the aviansie," Juna informed.

Jahaan ordered, "Death, go assist the Valluta and the Void Knights with the aviansie. If they break through as well, our chances are practically nothing."

With a nod of his faceless hood, Death charged into the chamber, scythe at the ready.

The battle raged on for who knows how long. Jahaan got lost in the combat, fighting anyone in white armour with a star on their chest. Before long, Death and the Void Knights returned to the chamber, having driven the aviansie into retreating. The playing field was becoming much more level at this point.

Jahaan took a stab at Commander Zilyana, but before their clash could begin, a small explosion rocked the room, emitting from the direction of the western wing.

Into the chamber emerged only three figures, but they were among the most fearsome the Guardians had encountered as of yet. The first, Nex, a name derived from the Infernal word for 'murder'. She was one of Zaros' most powerful weapons of war, and one of the most featured creatures in all of Gielinor. Skin red like lava, she was covered in jagged horns and spikes across her chest and back, sharp enough to skewer anyone that came close enough to her. Atop her scaly head were five long horns, curling behind her like waves of hair. Her wings were a gradient of crimson and ashen black, tattered and torn at the edges, yet with bones in them strong enough to snap a mortal in two. The second, Char, a fire enchantress in the service of Zaros. While she was humanoid in figure, her wild hair defied gravity, shaped in curves and spikes, and her eyes glowed fire. Her palms were still glowing from the remnants of a fire-spell she must have recently cast.

Those figures Jahaan had only heard about from legends told to him. The third, however, Jahaan knew personally, as did Commander Zilyana, who disengaged from her fight to approach the three Zarosians. "Azzanadra," she looked down her nose at the Mahjarrat. "I should have expected you Zarosians to lurk in the shadows, afraid to face those stronger than you."

Nex hissed, "You watch your tongue, Zilyana, or I will rip it from your mouth."

"You presume to speak to me, Nex?" Zilyana challenged. "You, who has been locked in your icy prison for thousands of years. Do you feel ready for a real battle again?"

"It seems you are outnumbered, Zilyana. It would be wise to back down," Azzanadra advised, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "After all, had you not been so desperate to reach Guthix, I'm sure you would have noticed us shadowing your steps. Perhaps you would have thought twice before destroying half the defence, kindly clearing our path."

"You dare-!"

Igniting her palms again, Char growled, "Oh, we are wasting time, Azzanadra. Let us just kill her and be done with it!"

"Calm, Char," Azzanadra eased. "It is all in hand. It is no use fighting anymore, Zilyana. It appears we have a friend planted closer to Guthix than any of us could ever be. Jahaan, would you be so kind as to lead us to Guthix?"

Upon seeing Commander Zilyana square up to Azzanadra and the other Zarosians, Jahaan had picked his battles closer to the confrontation, interested as to how the two volatile parties would react. When his name was mentioned, he kicked the Saradominist soldier to the side, badly slicing the man's arm as he did. "I didn't think I'd see you again so soon, Azzanada."

Juna shot Jahaan a surprised, troubling look. "You're acquainted with a Mahjarrat? After all they did to your people?"

"It was a long time ago," Jahaan explained. "I'd been enlisted to find a treasure inside one of the Kharidian pyramids. Finding Azzanadra was an… unexpected by-product. He told me his side of the story; I decided not to hold an aged grudge. Why should I?"

Disappointment evident in her tone, Juna shook her head and replied, "I did not see you as one to betray your principals so easily, human."

At this, Jahaan swung around. "Hey, I've been risking my life to defend Guthix with you. The God Wars are long since over, and I'd be a stubborn idiot to hold onto the supposed 'rage of my people'."

"Thank you, Jahaan," Azzanadra smiled in appreciation. "Now, while I would like to continue discussing our ideologies and histories at length, I'm afraid there are more pressing matters at hand. Guthix must first be awoken."

"Ah, now THAT I can't let you do."

Azzanadra crinkled his brow. "We do not wish to kill him, Jahaan. We Zarosians believe that Guthix can be reasoned with, allowing the edicts to fall long enough for our master's return. Besides, think of all we could learn from such a being!"

Commander Zilyana snorted in disgust. "Ignorant fool. You really think Guthix will be reasoned with? No, we must kill him - only then can the TRUE lord, Saradomin, return to Gielinor."

"No, Guthix must NOT be disturbed," Juna maintained, fiercely. She turned to Jahaan. "What say you, human? Please do not tell me you will side with the Mahjarrat once more."

Pointedly ignoring the undertone in the snake's hiss, Jahaan firmly replied, "Guthix must not be awoken, and definitely not killed. That's where I stand."

Azzanadra's shoulders sagged. "Jahaan, surely not…"

"I'm afraid so. It's the only way."

"This saddens me greatly. I considered you a friend, Jahaan. However, Guthix must be awoken, for Zaros. As much as it pains me, if this means challenging you then… that must be the case."

"Azzanadra, you sentimental fool," Char spat. "If the human stands against Zaros, then he stands against us. Any obstacle must be destroyed in flame and fire."

Suddenly, the ground began to shake violently, ripping everyone from conversation and combat.

"What's going on?" Kaqemeex tried his best to steady his stance, but ended up falling on his back. A Saradominist soldier tried to take advantage and strike him down, but ended up stumbling forwards and toppling to the ground instead.

Chaeldar cried, "The wall! Look!"

While everyone else was distracted, the door on the tableau wall had lit up before breaking open. However, no-one seemed to be close to it.

"That's the pathway to Guthix," Juna hissed, quietly, so only Jahaan could hear. "Go! Defend Guthix! We will keep these forces occupied."

As soon as she finished talking, Juna lunged at Nex, but the demon was too quick and slashed her ferocious claws deep into Juna's body, blood pouring from the wound instantly. The druids and the rest of the Guardians fought harder than ever before, Chaeldar challenging Char herself, knowing they were the last line of defence now.

Quickly, Jahaan raced through the hole in the door, sprinting through the chambers as fast as he could. He tightly clutched onto both of his swords, blood dripping from the edges as he ran, creating a crimson trail.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	12. Quest 03: Let Sleeping Gods Lie (Ch4)

**Quest 03: Let Sleeping Gods Lie**

**Chapter 4 - ****Godslayer**

_Jahaan stumbles upon a newly excavated chamber, one that a charismatic young stranger claims to be where Guthix resides under the earth. However, once this knowledge becomes commonplace, many different factions come to a head, either to protect the sleeping god, wake him, or destroy him..._

* * *

The cavern appeared to be a bottomless abyss; the background was the darkest fathomable black, a blank canvas to star-like energy particles floating upwards into the nothingness. Beneath the platform Jahaan had entered, a figure stood tall, so tall that he could have stretched from the centre of the planet and Jahaan would be none the wiser, with thick green skin and a crown of glowing orbs to sit atop his humanoid head. He was most certainly awake; his blue eyes looked up at the adventurer with contentment.

_Guthix_.

Peering down over the edge of the platform, Jahaan saw a series of rocks jutting outwards, leading closer to Guthix. On these rocks stood Orlando, staring up at the giant deity. Jahaan was about to call out to him, when suddenly, a flash of light enveloped the architect, causing Jahaan to shield his vision. When he managed to open his eyes again, Orlando was no more, and in his place stood a shadowy figure.

His purple robes were broken up at the hood by stripes of red and black, decorative and imposing. Tiny yellow pupils glistened in his black, hollow eyes; when he turned to look up at Jahaan, his smile was wicked and mischievous, like one of a proud sinner.

Jahaan's eyes narrowed into slits. _Sliske_.

With a wave of his wrist, a large staff appeared in his hands, two golden wings at the end with a blue crystal in between them. Turning back to Guthix, he held the staff aloft, and moments later, a violent burst of lightning shot from the end and pierced into Guthix's heart. Guthix roared in agony, shaking the chamber with his pained cries. An orange liquid started seeping from the wound, faster and faster as the staff's energy plunged deeper into the god's chest. Jahaan could only watch, helpless, as Guthix's life force was drained away.

Content with the damage he had done, Sliske teleported away.

Guthix's head lulled forwards, his chest heaving with staggered breaths as his raspy throat fought for air.

In the silence, Jahaan was frozen in place, unable to take his eyes off the wound on Guthix's chest. He almost fell to the ground when a voice echoed around him.

"_Do not be afraid. You have no enemies here. As I believe you know, I am Guthix."_

Trying to regain a level-head, Jahaan cleared his throat before replying, "What just happened? Are you injured?"

"_Sliske was wielding an elder weapon. A god slayer, if you will. I am dying, Jahaan Alsiyad-Abut. But we still have time. It has been most interesting watching your brave journey to get here."_

Jahaan's eyes widened. "You knew what was happening outside?"

"_Yes. I saw everything. You put up an honourable defence and I thank you. Before the end, there is something I must show you. I must share this with someone, before these memories die with me…"_

When the world faded back into life, Jahaan was standing in a foreign land, consisting of what appeared to be giant trees supporting shattered floating islands, which had leaves dangling from the bottom of them. Lights could be seen hanging from branches, and broken paths connected some of the islands, which had tree roots flowing through them. Purple plants of varying sizes were found growing in every direction.

"Guthix?" Jahaan called out, puzzled.

"I am here," Guthix assured, teleporting in front of him. He was considerably smaller than before, standing barely an inch taller than Jahaan himself. His skin was a mossy green, with shawn bark-coloured hair on his head. His golden robes were that of a simple man, tattered and passed down for generations, but still with enough life in them to last. He had no armour and bore no weapons, and anyone could not be blamed for mistaking him for a farmer of this world.

"I have taken a form from my past," Guthix announced, quietly, as if he didn't wish to disturb the silent surroundings.

"Your past? Where are we?"

"This is my homeland. Or rather, my last memories of it, moments before I left."

Jahaan crinkled his brow. "Your homeland?"

The two began walking through the remains of this world. "Have patience, all will be explained. You saw Sliske - the Mahjarrat - deal his final blow... I am dying. I have slowed our passage of time momentarily, so I may share this with you. Many millennia ago, I was born here, on Naragun, far away from the land you call home. From as far back as I can remember, this world was in turmoil. My world was home to many gods; many beings who would claim it as their own. The gods fought relentlessly, and as more and more came, the fighting became increasingly vicious. War broke out and lasted for centuries. The world was ravaged, and the population decimated. And do you know who came out the victor, Jahaan?"

Jahaan shook his head.

"No one. No one emerged triumphant from this ordeal," Guthix's reply was sharp and loaded. "My people were killed. All of my friends, my family. I was left to stand alone on this devastated plane, with memories of what my life had been."

There were corpses scattered all around the barren landscape; Jahaan deduced that these must be Guthix's memories of his friends and family, all killed in the wars that destroyed this world. Their clothes were basic, and they carried no weapons. They looked more like farmers and crafters than warriors, the kind of people that would not stand much of a chance against a god's army. It was sickening that so many of the dead were not soldiers. As the gods' battles became more fervent, innocent citizens must have become accidental casualties, eventually wiping out Guthix's race altogether.

"What about the gods?" Jahaan inquired.

"Many died. Many fled," Guthix guided Jahaan to a dead god that loomed over the landscape, terrifying even in death. His appearance suggested that he was not a benevolent god, although even if he were it seems that none of the gods who visited this world cared much for the mortals living upon it.

"He is one of the fallen. A god, long-dead and forgotten," Guthix explained. "In the last days of the war, I believed I was soon to die, too. There was no food, no water. I scavenged among the dead, until one day I found a weapon; a large sword, crackling with energy. I recognised it as a weapon of the gods. The 'elder weapons', as they referred to them. These weapons were prized among them, and they fought desperately over these. I knew it to be my only chance, so I took it. Having seen so much violence, I do not believe in it as a solution. But in this case, I had no other choice. In the dead of night, I crept from the ruins of my home. I found a slumbering god - the god you see before you - peaceful amid the rubble. I stabbed him with the elder weapon, driving it deep into his back. The weapon shattered as the god reared back in pain before crashing to the ground. As I watched him take his last breaths, I felt power growing within me. I became a god myself, equal to those who had tormented my life. I left this world and its painful memories. I fled for centuries, aimlessly wandering until something captured my attention. I felt drawn to a planet - Gielinor. It was beautiful, and more importantly, empty. It was somewhere I could hide, and mourn my dead. I had not expected to find the Stone upon it - the Stone of Jas - granting me a power greater than even the gods of my homeworld."

The two walked past what appeared to be the remains of a ruined temple. Some of Guthix's race must have begun to worship the gods who came to this world, creating shrines and temples for them, becoming caught up in the very war that destroyed them. A warped form of Stockholm syndrome. If he squinted, Jahaan thought he could pick out a familiar symbol carved onto what was left of the shrine.

It was a four-pointed star.

Before he decided to continue that particularly saddening train of thought, Jahaan stopped their strolling beside an unidentified corpse. Unlike Guthix's race, this creature was clearly a warrior. It almost looked as if it was created purely for combat, with strong muscles and thick skin. It could have ripped a naragi to shreds in seconds. The creature was wearing tough armour, bearing the mark of a long-forgotten god.

Jahaan inquired, "What is this? It doesn't look like any race I've ever seen."

"It is a god's warrior - a creature introduced to this world only for war. The sparring gods brought in other races to fight for them, creating their own armies, much like how the Mahjarrat were introduced to Gielinor. When I arrived in Gielinor, I spent a long time alone. I didn't know what my future held, or what I should do next. Eventually, I came upon what I believed was my purpose. I aimed to create a world free of the influence of gods, a world where the inhabitants would not have to fight other beings' wars. So, I introduced my own chosen races: humans, gnomes, dwarves, sheep... beings who do not strongly tend towards evil, nor good. I chose tribes who had no concept of gods, and I brought them to Gielinor, to live uninfluenced lives while I retained the balance. I even bought Seren with me, and she brought her elves…" Guthix paused for a moment, lost in his own reminiscing. Shaking his head, his light tone turned sorrowful once more as he continued, "But I was naive; my plan would never work. I should have seen it coming. I introduced the mortals to the world, and I had a power greater than they had ever seen. The mortal races began to worship _me_. They built shrines to me, made sacrifices… they waited on my every word. It pained me deeply to see myself becoming what I had always loathed. They should not have been living beneath me. I wanted them to be free, balanced, to make their own decisions. Knowing my presence was thwarting my efforts, I withdrew into the earth, to sleep. I hoped I would be forgotten over the ages. But it was not long before the other gods arrived."

As he spoke, Guthix's voice was growing weaking, fading. "I feel my strength draining. We are nearly at the end."

The two walked up some floating wooden steps, held together with study tree roots. Beside the steps stood a stone tablet among the ruins. The clarity of the writing suggested that Guthix had a strong memory of this tablet; perhaps it was something he saw every day, or something dear to him. Along the path, just beyond the stone, stood the crumbled remains of a house.

As they continued up the steps, Guthix continued, "When I ended the war of the gods, I did it with no pleasure. I already knew I had failed. Looking over Gielinor, it was like looking at my homeland: the land ravaged; the mortals worshiping a multitude of gods, including myself. The races brought in by the now-banished gods remained, and disrupted the balance at every turn. Battles raged on, in the names of the absent gods. I could banish the gods themselves, but I could not remove the memories of them, nor the blind faith displayed by their followers. Besides, my own interference would only disrupt the balance even more. I have disproportionate power, more than any single being should have. But now, balance will be restored, with my passing. I could have prevented this, Jahaan. I have been awake since you triggered the alarm. I knew what would happen."

Realisation dawned upon Jahaan heavily. "You… you could have stopped Sliske... why didn't you?"

"Jahaan, I have been the most powerful being on Gielinor since my arrival. Of course I could have stopped Sliske if I had desired to. But I embrace my death. It must occur, if the world is to be balanced. If the gods return, another war is inevitable. Gielinor must be returned to peace before war destroys it... before it becomes like my own world. A dead, desolate wasteland... Gielinor must be protected, Jahaan. But not by me. By a mortal. Someone with the power to defend against the gods, but not the power to be one."

Guthix cringed, clutching his chest as he groaned, "Ah… it is... the pain is becoming stronger. Please, follow me into me house… my home…"

The two walked inside the remnants of Guthix's house. From what was left of the structure, it looked like something that, before being destroyed, was a lovely piece of architecture, strong but… cosy, almost. It… had an aura about, a warmth that Jahaan let pass over him. The house would have been big enough for a family. For Guthix's family.

Now, there was only one bed left inside, and that was comprised of nothing more than a somewhat flat stone tablet.

Doubling over, Guthix clutched onto the wall for balance, a desperate attempt to remain standing. "I have... so little time. Please, listen carefully, Jahaan. I have already shared my power with you, chosen you as one of my creatures, so that you may reach this point. When this is over, you will find yourself with even more power. Power you may use to defend against gods. You must be a guardian of this world, Jahaan. Gielinor must be free."

To see Guthix in such a weary state, to see what his world had become, and how it shaped him into the being he was known to be on Gielinor, Jahaan was on the edge of tears. He was not above admitting his emotions when such emotions were justified. Sniffing them back, he vowed, "I'll do as you ask. I'll use your powers to protect Gielinor from the gods."

The smile Guthix managed was so weak, so frail. He edged over towards his bed and crawled on top of it. "I am glad to have found such a noble mortal as you, Jahaan. My blessing is with you."

He closed his eyes, one final time. "It is over. My family waits for me. Remember... your purpose, Jahaan... and please… forget me."

When Jahaan opened his eyes again, he was standing in the cavern, on the edge, looking down at the lifeless form of Guthix. It was so silent. The tears he had been holding back on Naragun released themselves here.

Numbly, he walked back through the tunnels, back out into the main chamber, where he found the fighting had continued in his absence. He didn't even know how much time had passed; Guthix mentioned something about slowing the passage of time, but not to what extent.

What was evident were the casualties in his absence. Juna was lying motionless on the floor, with druids tending to her. From all sides of the battle, people had fallen.

His return to the main room caught the eye of Azzanadra. "Jahaan, what happened in there?"

Now, more and more people stopped their fighting to turn to him. The grave atmosphere was answer enough, but they all waited on baited breath, praying for their desired outcome.

Taking a deep breath, Jahaan looked among the faces of the crowd before announcing, "Guthix is dead."

The chamber descended into silence, before some of the Guthixians broke out into quiet sobs and disbelieving whispers.

Even the Mahjarrat looked suitably shocked. Only the Saradominists had the nerve to look gleeful.

"I... I did this," Jahaan continued, his voice wavering. "The man I brought with me, Orlando, was actually the Mahjarrat Sliske in disguise..."

Many of the gathered gasped, turning threatening eyes over to Azzanadra, who for his part looked just as horrified. "This… this was not our intention, you must believe me. He gave me his word. He..."

"To believe a snake?" Chaeldar spat. "We would be imbeciles!"

Kaqemeex put an reassuring hand on Jahaan's shoulder. "You are not to blame, Jahaan. None of us saw through his deception. We share the blame."

The Valluta shook her head, her mouth held agape. "Guthix would not have let a peon like Sliske destroy him, surely?"

Jahaan sighed at the memory. "It was his will. He said he knew what was to happen, and he accepted it."

"B-But why? Why would he leave us?"

Death cut in, "We could discuss this all night, but there is no point. Guthix is dead. His edicts are broken. That means the gods can return to Gielinor."

In a beat, it hit them all, with Thaerisk voicing the unspeakable, "The wars could begin again..."

Suddenly, the ground started shake, knocking crumbling fragments from the wall out of their places and onto the ground, making rubble out of them.

"What's happening?" Chaeldar cried, hovering higher to try and see the cause of the disruption. "Another Zarosian trick?"

Trying to maintain his footing, Azzanadra desperately protested, "This is not of our doing!"

Then, in a brilliant flash of blue light, a figure emerged. His skin was pale blue, covered by a flowing blue robe and gold armour. A gold and diamond two-tiered crown sat atop his head, and on his chest plate was printed the symbol of his religion - a four-pointed star.

He turned to Azzanadra and his small band of followers. "This is no place for battle. Go back to your hiding places."

With a snap of his fingers, he teleported the trio away.

Instantly, Commander Zilyana fell to her knees in a deep bow. "Saradomin, my lord! You have returned! Look, our rival Guthix-"

"Silence, Zilyana," his voice was booming, demanding obedience. "It is not right to revel in bloodshed. What has been done could not have been helped. Guthix was not an evil god. Like myself, he yearned to make the world a better place for those who dwell upon it. But his notion of balance was flawed, and his presence meant that I could not return. It was not an easy decision, but Guthix had to die. But, Zilyana, that does not mean we should gloat over the events here."

Rising to her feet, Zilyana bowed her head once more. "I apologise, my lord."

Saradomin turned to Jahaan, his demeanor that of someone who believes he rules over all be surveys, the superiority only a god can lay claim to. "So, human, you were alone with Guthix in his last breaths. Tell me, do you know who I am?"

Jahaan's initial response was to be measured - after all, he was in the presence of yet another god. But when he saw that familiar symbol emblazoned on Saradomin's chest, he instead saw red.

"You were there, weren't you?"

"Pardon?"

"On Naragun," Jahaan pressed, his voice a blade. "You were there, in the wars. You tore Guthix's homeland apart."

Saradomin sighed, almost in annoyance. It only made Jahaan angrier. "That was many centuries ago. You only have half the story, mortal."

Jahaan knew how Saradomin came to Gielinor, knew his large, destructive role in the God Wars of the Third Age. His opinion of the deity wasn't anything special, but after seeing how he'd tried this act on world's before Gielinor infuriated Jahaan. "Oh, and what's the other half? You just wanted to bring peace and order to Naragun? The world was doing fine without you, just like Gielinor was."

"Hmph. I see Guthix has been infesting your mind with many tales. No matter. I'm sure we will get to talk again in the future, and I do hope I will get to share my side of the story with you. Right now, however, is not the time, nor the place. Much has happened here today. With the edicts broken, the world will soon enter a new age. More gods will be coming... I apologise, human. I do hope we meet again, but for now I must ask you to leave. I have much to do here."

Saradomin attempted to teleport Jahaan away, just like he did the Zarosians, but the spell only knocked Jahaan a few steps backwards, like he'd been shoved. The deity crinkled his brow. "Interesting... you shouldn't be able to resist my power."

Jahaan flashed a challenging grin, laced with fury. He made sure to pronounce every single word carefully when he explained, "I can resist, because before he died, Guthix imparted some of his power to me. Power to guard the world from the gods that wish to control it. Gods like you, Saradomin."

Saradomin regarded the human before him with a reserved glare. "Impressive... Guthix must have seen something special in you. Or he was that desperate. Who knows? Consider your choices, human. Guthix may have presented you with the world as he sees it, but that is not the only view. There are other more worthy paths. No one should wish for another war of the gods, but sometimes violence is necessary before we can achieve a greater peace. It would be wise to ensure you are on the right side when that violence begins. I will leave you now to think on that. I'm sure we'll meet again... World Guardian."

Saradomin teleported away, and Jahaan dropped to his knees, his swords clattering to the ground. He fought desperately for breath, to regain composure, but it was an uphill battle. The confrontation with Saradomin, coupled with the trip through the memories of Guthix, had drained Jahaan both physically and mentally.

"So this is it, then," the words caught in Fiara's throat. "Guthix is dead."

"We have little time to mourn," Death replied. "Saradomin has returned."

"You are right. We must act quickly if we are to mount a defence, to protect ourselves," the Valluta stated firmly. She turned to Kaqemeex and the druids surrounding him, asking, "Juna… will she live?"

Kaqemeex sighed, heavily. "She sustained a large gash in the battle. I have administered all I can for now. She's alive. Whether she regains consciousness is another matter."

Chaeldar rubbed the tears at her eyes, angrily. "I'm going to make Sliske pay for this."

"You aren't the only one who wants to make Sliske suffer," Jahaan asserted. "Right now though, we need to think of the bigger picture. The gods are coming back. We need to focus on doing what we can to minimise their damage."

"And what can we alone hope to do?" Fiara's tone was one of defeat.

Sighing, Jahaan replied, "I don't know, but we'll figure it out. One step at a time."

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	13. Quest 04: The Battle of Lumbridge (Ch1)

**Quest 04: The Battle of Lumbridge**

**Chapter 1 - The Shadow**

_Now that the gods can return to Gielinor, Saradomin and Zamorak waste little time and return to war once more. This time, Lumbridge is their battlefield. While the battle wages on, Jahaan tries to find out more about the mysterious Mahjarrat who has taken a particular interest in him..._

* * *

Despite its fairly large population and wide coverage of land, Lumbridge retained many of the characteristics of a quaint little village. Often regarded by most as the 'warm heart of Gielinor', Lumbridge's buildings were old-fashioned, bright white paint covering the study wooden shell; black cladding was attached for decoration, and the roofs were thatched straw, woven together delicately and with expert craftsmanship. The River Lum weaved its way through the town, dividing it in two. Farmland occupied a lot of the land close to the river, with lucious crop fields and pastures for livestock to roam inside, cared for by the many farmers of the town. One never felt too far from company in the embrace of the Lumbridge community, from the sweet milkmaid Gillie Groats, to Father Aereck, a Saradominist priest inside a small church that stood for over two hundred years, longer than Lumbridge Castle, all the way to the duke himself, Duke Horacio. The duke was a rotund, bubbly gentlemen that took the pride of Lumbridge to heart, using it as a measure of the success of his reign.

Throughout its history, Lumbridge had many problems with goblin raids from western tribes. Fortunately, an unspoken ceasefire was in operation between the humans and their goblin counterparts, though the trice was uneasy, evident by the number of guardsman present on the outskirts of the town. Thanks to the diplomacy of Duke Horacio, peace had been kept thus far.

However, on this day, the tranquil little town of Lumbridge was to be shattered, beyond the realms of a meager goblin raid, and beyond the repair of Horacio's diplomacy.

This was the day Zamorak returned to Gielinor.

_A few days earlier..._

After the events that had transpired in Guthix's cave, Jahaan returned to the Legends' Guild, hoping those with a little more experience than him might have some wise words, advice, rationalisation - he'd even settle for a limerick. Anything to make sense of what had transpired and, more importantly, where to go next.

Instead, they were a little less calm and collected than what he'd hoped. Many of them simply didn't believe Jahaan at face value, which was understandable. It's not every day you hear one of the most powerful gods in Gielinor's history has been murdered. After a trip to Guthix's final resting place and a conference with the Guardians of Guthix that had remained there to build a shrine, reality sunk in. Those that did believe Jahaan, or were then shown proof, didn't take the news all that well.

The Guthixians among them went into mourning, and even those that didn't worship the deceased deity felt the heavy toll of losing him, especially since one particularly troubling fact hung over them…

...now, the other gods could return to Gielinor.

When Jahaan couldn't take any more of their worrisome deliberating, he asked if he could take to one of the visitor bunks and try to shift the weight of the day from his shoulders.

_A good night's sleep is what I really need,_ he kept telling himself, subtly praying that everything would sort itself out by the morning. Of course, nothing's as easy as that. Even sleep seemed to be a trial, for every time he closed his eyes, he could see Naragun, the innocent Naragi scattered across the wastelands of their home, and Guthix taking his final breaths on that stone tablet.

"_Remember your purpose, Jahaan... and please… forget me."_

Those last words echoed a haunting mantra inside his mind, ceasing to allow him a moment's peace.

_That smile…_

In the darkness of his mind, he also saw that smile of Sliske's, smug and full of malice.

Turning on his side, Jahaan let out a heavy sigh and resigned himself to the fact he wouldn't get much sleep that night.

Turns out he didn't get much sleep that night, nor the two nights that followed. The days, also, were very restless. The Guild was chaotic, and Jahaan had taken to spending much of his time wandering aimlessly in the forest between Seer's Village and the Guild. This, however, was not as relaxing as it sounded.

Every single person Jahaan locked eyes with, he was suspicious of. They could be giving him a pleasant smile or a tip of their hat in greeting, and Jahaan would turn a cold shoulder. When he made it up to the pub in the Village, thinking it'd help clear his mind to knock back a few, the crowded atmosphere only made things ten times worse. Their laughing, chattering… everything set Jahaan on edge, and even the whiskey couldn't sooth his state of mind. People would sit next to him, and he shot daggers in their direction, unprovoked and unnecessary. His shoulders remained hunched and tense, his hand clasped tightly around the whiskey glass, ready to use it as a weapon at a moment's notice.

"_We've met before, but I doubt he remembers me… I've been watching you for quite some time now… I have the feeling our paths are going to cross again very, very soon…"_

The words echoed around Jahaan's mind like a death rattle.

Orlando had been Sliske in disguise, and Jahaan's inability to see through such a facade led to Guthix's death.

It was hard not to feel responsible; he'd been played for a fool.

While he'd first brushed off the ominous words of Sliske at the Ritual Site, he now examined them in a much more serious light, with all the consequences that had followed in the recent days.

_Who else had Sliske been?_

It was the overarching question of the day. He'd obviously encountered the Mahjarrat before in one of his many disguises, shapeshifting prowess being a natural talent for his kind. Had he been a merchant trying to sell him wares? A soldier in battle? A stranger across from him at the bar?

For all the acquaintances he'd made in his years, Jahaan found himself pouring through each and everyone one of them to see if he could find a hint of Sliske within, all the while pouring more and more whiskey into his system.

In fact, he'd drank so much whiskey that he ended up falling asleep at the bar counter, only to be shaken awoke by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Jahaan?" the voice was gentle too, a hushed whisper. "Jahaan, it's time to leave. Come on, let's get you to bed."

Stirring slightly, Jahaan's neck creaked like an ancient door as he turned to the disruption. The sudden change from darkness to the light of the bar caused an onslaught of double vision, but through blurry eyes, he just about made out the pastel-coloured shape of Ozan leaning over him.

Smiling, Jahaan drawled, "Heyy Ozan… I thought you and Ariane were in East Ardougne. W-Where's Coal...?"

"We got back this afternoon," Ozan replied, perching himself on the stool next to Jahaan's. "Ariane's babysitting. She loves the little fella. I heard you were down this way, thought I'd join you for a round before the place closes. I think you might have drank all their booze, though."

Jahaan rubbed his aching temples. "Did they tell you about Guthix?"

"Briefly," Ozan confirmed, solemnly. "You've got a lot to explain once your hangover passes. Come on, let's get you to sleep."

"Yes, sleep..." Jahaan mumbled, the world swaying as he slowly rose from the stool. He thanked fate that Ozan had come to find him, since he doubted he'd be able to stagger back to the Guild on his own.

_Very convenient,_ Jahaan thought to himself. Then, like a matchstick to oil, the thought caught fire, and spread fast. _Too convenient… oh gods..._

Jahaan jerked away from Ozan's hand. _How did I not realise before? Ozan never went to the cave, never saw 'Orlando Smith'... he could have easily become him..._

Looking puzzled, Ozan ventured, "Jahaan? You alright, man?"

The glare Jahaan shot back could have burned through flesh; Ozan flinched, edging backwards ever so slightly. "W-What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It's you, isn't it?" Jahaan's teeth were rattling as he tried to keep composed. It was harder said than done since the effects of the whiskey had far from subsided.

Ozan looked around him, warily. "Uh, yes? It's me?"

"You might as well drop the disguise. I know it's you."

Now, Ozan was utterly baffled, and slightly scared. "Uhh, Jahaan? Gonna need a little more than that. Who do you think I am right now?"

"Sliske," Jahaan spat the name like it was poison.

Ozan's brow furrowed; this did not abate his confusion. "The dude from the Ritual Site?"

Suddenly, in the mere blink of an eye, Jahaan shot forward and slammed Ozan into the bar wall behind him, clattering into it with a pained thud. Ozan opened his mouth to protest, but find the words fall lifelessly from his lips with the cold metal of a dagger pressed against his neck.

"You're not fooling me again, _snake_," Jahaan coldly vowed, his red eyes unblinking.

Most of the few remaining s swiftly made for the door, though others watched morbidly, their breath bated, eyes full of blood. The bloodlust was shared to Jahaan, who dug the edge of the runite blade slightly deeper into Ozan's unprotected neck, drawing a thin line of blood as he did so.

Biting back bile that clogged up his throat, Ozan tried to calm his own breathing as he stammered, "Y-You've known me since… since we were little tykes! Y-You know I'm not S-Sliske!"

"I only know _someone_," Jahaan countered through gritted teeth, "Sliske said he'd been following me for years, disguising himself as others around me, and what better way to do that than to assimilate himself as my 'best friend'?"

Cursing internally, the fear in Ozan's eyes grew as he knew Jahaan had a very good point. Now, it seemed that just begging and pleading his innocence wasn't going to be enough. He had to think, and fast.

Then suddenly - miraculously, more like - it came to him.

"T-The Mahjarrat, you said they could sense each other, right?" Ozan babbled, pressing himself so far into the wall behind him he felt he'd become one with it at any moment. Yet this time, there was light in his eyes, a hope dancing inside the pupils. "Azzanadra! You and me got him out of that pyramid. If I was Sliske, he would have _known_!"

It was Jahaan's eyes that betrayed him first, the blink of realisation that made him feel sick to the stomach, more so than the whiskey ever could. _Oh gods..._

Quickly, Jahaan peeled the dagger off Ozan and stumbled backwards. "Oh gods, you're right…" he looked heavily up at his friend, age in his features. "Ozan, I…"

Prising himself off the wall, Ozan rubbed away the crimson dribbling down his neck. It had unfortunately already stained his clothing. "You've… you've had a lot to drink, and a long few days. Let's… let's just get back to the Guild."

Ozan limped out the bar, and Jahaan skulked after him.

From across the room, a blonde man watched them go. He sipped the last remnants of his drink, and smiled.

"Now just tense the string, hold it tight - steady, steady! You're shaking! You're gonna kill the cows in the next field at this rate."

Jahaan slept for most of the next day, waking up only to empty the contents of his stomach and sip delicately at a glass of water. Luckily, once Jahaan had explained himself and apologised profusely for the whole dagger incident, Ozan was inclined to forgive him. He knew his friend well, almost too well, and had learned that alcohol-fueled tempers were rarely personal. This time, with everything that had gone on with Guthix's death and the poisonous seeds this 'Sliske' fellow had planted, it wasn't much of a surprise that Jahaan hit breaking point like that.

So, to help his friend decompress after the events in the cave, Ozan offered to take Jahaan to the Ranging Guild a little up the pathway to practice his archery.

"Ego's the only reason I came out of that fight with Zemouregal unscathed," Jahaan had gravely explained, "Next time, he might wisen up and use magic, so I need to get better at a long-range combat style, and fast."

Being renowned as one of the best archer's in all of Gielinor, Jahaan thought he couldn't be in better hands than Ozan's when it came to this. It came so naturally to Ozan - his bow was like a third arm. Translating that to Jahaan was… _difficult_.

Granted, Jahaan wasn't _bad_, by no means. Almost all of his arrows had hit the target, and a couple even got dead centre.

"OZAN!" the sharp, alarming cry startled Jahaan, causing his arrow to embed in the fence post to the side of the target, a good two feet from the mark.

Snapping around, the two men saw a young lad huffing and gasping for air, bright red in the face. "Urgent. Guild. Come now!" was all he managed to choke out before his throat gave up.

Exchanging worried glances, Ozan and Jahaan picked up their supplies before rushing back to the Guild.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	14. Quest 04: The Battle of Lumbridge (Ch2)

**Quest 04: The Battle of Lumbridge**

**Chapter 2 - Chaos Theory**

_Now that the gods can return to Gielinor, Saradomin and Zamorak waste little time and return to war once more. This time, Lumbridge is their battlefield. While the battle wages on, Jahaan tries to find out more about the mysterious Mahjarrat who has taken a particular interest in him..._

* * *

For darkness, there is light. For evil, there is goodness. For chaos, there is order.

For those that believed in the stark black and white of this world, they would say 'for Zamorak, there is Saradomin'.

Saradomin was the most widely worshipped god on all of Gielinor, standing as the god of order, wisdom and light. His followers would also characterise him as the 'god of goodness', but those who were not fooled by all the propaganda would see that he exists in shades of grey. Though it is true that Saradomin is largely benevolent and strives to do things he regards as 'righteous', he is far from the personification of 'good' that his followers might have you believe. Indeed, he is relentless and ruthless in pursuit of his goals, often toting that the ends justify the means. His followers are almost fanatically loyal to him, no doubt blissfully unaware of his darker side. The Saradominist propaganda department was incredibly impressive.

Then, to contrast the supposed 'god of order', there was Zamorak, god of chaos. Once a Mahjarrat, Zamorak usurped his previous master, Zaros, and in doing so, ascended to godhood.

Although Zamorak is considered as a mystical infatuation of chaos by his followers, he is seen as an evil god by his rivals and their followers. However, there has been a great deal of historical ignorance with respect to the humans of Gielinor who got influenced by Saradomin. It's true, many would have to jump far beyond their own shadow in order to deal with the foundations of Zamorak's beliefs, but once examined closely, he is not the deity of evil so many would believe him to be. His teachings state that self-improvement, greatness, strength and purpose are brought by chaos, whereas order and constancy supposedly lead to stagnation of society, and this was ultimately the reason he turned away from the Zarosian Empire. He does not condone violence for the sake of violence, nor does he wish for the mass-slaughter of any race or religion of Gielinor, instead wanting them to liberate themselves and become truly free.

No, contrary to popular belief, things weren't always as clear cut as they seem for the deities of Gielinor, especially when morality became a factor.

But nevertheless, the Saradominist/Zamorakian rivalry was fierce and relentless, each side desperate to do anything to make the heads of their enemies roll.

The portal in the centre of Lumbridge, right next to the canoe station, had appeared out of nowhere, a black hole punched into the air. The general response was one of apprehension and fear, although a handful took to worshipping it.

They were simple people, the Lumbridge folk.

It didn't take long before the portal expanded, ripping through the world like it was tearing through cotton. With it, it brought darkness to the skies, turning the bright blue and crystal clear day into an overcast mess, with black ink pouring out from the portal.

Then, out from the black, Zamorak emerged.

Towering over the miniscule little buildings beneath him, Zamorak stood almost as high as Lumbridge Castle itself. Red appendages stuck out from his grey face like branches on fire, the colours matching his red and black cloak, broken up at the shoulders by black and gold plates. His symbol, something that resembled a pointed 'W', was woven into his robes. Dark crimson wings stretched outwards as he took in the brisk air with a contented sigh, cracked his knuckles, and sneered. "I'm back, bitches."

Zamorak stomped through the town, master and commander of all he surveyed. At least he was courteous enough not to tread on any actual people, though a few fences felt his wrath.

Then, a pulse of blue energy at his back stopped him dead in his tracks, though the meagre blast was more of an irritation than an attack.

"Who dares?!" he whipped around, and his eyes looked down at a tiny little Saradomin glaring up at him with a challenging upturn to his mouth. Sniffing a laugh, he greeted, "Old Saradomin… come to tell me you've missed me?"

"Yours is a sight I've enjoyed living without," Saradomin grew to the same size an Zamorak, matching his fiery stare with one of his own. "I've come to finish what was started all those years ago, now Guthix can no longer interrupt us."

"Game on," Zamorak teleported to one end of Lumbridge, while Saradomin whisked away to the other. They seemed oblivious to the people scurrying below them, ants in comparison, not even sure where shelter would be in the presence of two gods that could turn a house to dust in an instant. No, Saradomin and Zamorak's gazes were firmly locked on one another, a rivalry everlasting, eternal until one of them was cast into the abyss. Thousands of years of fighting, millions of lives lost…

...now, they were gearing up for round two.

It was a standoff, a tense silence of scowls and clenched fists, onlookers awaiting the first move with terrified, bated breath.

Suddenly, Zamorak cast a surge of energy his foe's way, the first move, sending the dominos falling. Saradomin countered with one of his own, and the two blasts collided mid-air with such velocity and power that the explosion and subsequent shockwave it produced decimated the centre of Lumbridge, turning it to rubble in an instant. Even the western side of the duke's castle shattered.

When the dust settled, the sky had turned a sickly green colour, looming over the ruins of the once lovely little town. Everyone too close to the epicentre of the colliding powers felt the full effects of godly magic. Even those further away did not leave unscathed, being thrown back in the wave that followed the clash.

The two gods glared daggers into one another, teeth bared and dripping venom. Then, from out of nothing more than the rocks, dirt and rubble beneath them, they pulled up barricades around themselves, shaping hardened battlements.

With a cackle and a wash of flames, a young woman teleported in front of Zamorak, her skin a twisted blend of human and iron coloured scales. Her eyes glowed magenta, matching the short and flowing dress she sported underneath sparse golden armour.

At the same time, a flash of white lighting hit the ground, revealing an icyene warrior after the glow faded out. When they spread their wings to reveal themselves, Commander Zilyana stood resolute.

Then, from both sides, White and Black Knights teleported in front of their respective gods, legions of them.

"FOR ZAMORAK!" the woman at Zamorak's side roared, unleashing her troops into combat, charging towards their White Knight counterparts. Zilyana ordered her troops to advance, and the two opposing sides met in the ruins of Lumbridge centre, erupting into battle.

Hours had already passed by the time Jahaan, Sir Owen, Ozan and company had made it to Lumbridge. Once they received word, the Saradominists among them sprung into life, snatching their weapons and throwing on their armour for the chance to fight in the presence of their god. Ozan, Jahaan and the Guthixians (like Ariane) were a little more hesitant to rush into battle for gods that weren't their own. However, knowing it was important to make themselves useful at such a time, they teleported to Lumbridge with them regardless.

Sir Amik Vaze met them at the Saradominist base to the north of the city; the mill had been converted into a makeshift base of operations. They arrived under the shadow of Saradomin, darkness cast over them from his overbearing presence. Jahaan looked up and saw Saradomin's piercing gaze staring off across the battlefield. When he followed them, they met Zamorak, who was a spectacle of crimson and black at the far end of the town.

"Sir Owen, good to see you," Sir Amik greeted, his helmet underneath his arm.

"And you, Sir Amik," Sir Owen returned. "I trust you've managed to gather our forces without resistance?"

"Of course. The White Knights and Temple Knights came instantly. Those spread out across Gielinor have all confirmed they are en route."

Sir Amik led the small group over to a map of Lumbridge stretched out across the long table, weighed down by cutlery holders and sugar bags.

"This is the crater," he pointed to the centre of the town. "It has green divine energy emitting from its core. While not confirmed by the Lord himself, the working theory is that it's leftover lifeforce from Guthix. It's increasing Saradomin's power, and so he has asked us to deliver it to him. The Zamorakians, unfortunately, have the same idea."

"Then that must be top priority," Sir Owen asserted.

"What about the civilians?" Jahaan pressed, "_They_ should be the priority. Are they being evacuated?"

"Yes, those east of the Lum have been allowed refuge in Al Kharid, though it's been a little tense at the border. West of the Lum is slightly more difficult. Draynor isn't responding to our correspondence. We're setting up camps in the north west to avoid an incident."

Ozan shook his head, disappointed. "Why am I not surprised."

Then, he straightened up his jacket and made for the door. "Jahaan, you coming?"

"Yep, let's go," Jahaan agreed, following him out.

Puzzled, Sir Owen chased after him. "Where do you think you're going?"

Calmly, Ozan replied, "Home. I'm not fighting your wars. I'll help my people."

Gobsmacked, Sir Owen growled, "And what of you, Jahaan? We need fighters! Didn't Guthix make you a 'world guardian', or something? Well, do your duty - guard the world and fight for the glory of our lord!"

"Hey, he's YOUR lord, not mine," Jahaan returned, though with slightly less composure than Ozan. "I'll do my part, but I don't owe your god a damn thing."

Ozan gave Ariane a sheepish little wave, who returned the motion with a heart-melting smile. Coal, ever to ruin the moment, hopped off Ariane's shoulder and lept into Ozan's arms, who squeezed him tightly.

"I'll take good care of him," Ariane assured, motioning for Coal to return to her.

Without another word, Jahaan and Ozan made for the Al Kharid border, which wasn't too far from the eastern edge of town.

It was miraculous how the bizarre climate of Gielinor operated; within one's eyesight, they could see the lush grasslands of Lumbridge transition into the sandy deserts of the Kharidian Lands. However, they weren't always deserts. No, during the Second Age, the Kharidian Lands were as full of life as anywhere, all until the battle that settled the wars in the region for the rest of the God Wars. That was the battle where Tumeken, leader of the Menaphite Pantheon and God of the Sun, sacrificed himself and his armies to push back the Zarosian forces once and for all. The explosion that occurred destroyed the land, turning it into a barren wasteland that would never recover. The shockwave stretched all the way from Uzer to the southern shores of Menaphos.

The climate never recovered, and the temperature increase as one left Lumbridge towards Al Kharid was unmistakable.

Fortunately, the two men had kept ahold of their identity papers throughout their travels, making passage through the border a lot easier. Ozan was well known among the authorities of Al Kharid, for better or for worse, which acted as a passport in its own right. Jahaan, on the other hand, was as much of an outsider as the next guy. During peace times, this wouldn't be an issue, as anyone can pay the border fee and enter the city. During a conflict, however, they didn't just let any random bloke with a pair of swords into the city, regardless of the origins of their name or the complexion of their skin.

There was a queue separating them from the border, with refugees from Lumbridge trying to make their passage into the city. Predominantly, they were women, and a few men looking a little worse for wear.

When they made it to the front, Ozan handed his identity papers to the guard that beckoned him over. "_Marhabaan_, Fahri, long time!"

The guard looked at his papers closely, a wry smile on his face. "_Marhabaan_. Been a while, Ozan. Causing trouble for the other kingdoms, have you?"

"I like to share myself around," Ozan winked at him.

Fahri rolled his eyes. "We've already filled up two folders on you. Please don't make me have to buy a third."

Grinning, Ozan exclaimed, "You've been keeping a full record! I want to read this! Nostalgia purposes, and all."

Handing the documents back, Fahri replied, "If you want to know what's in your file, just think back to all the shit you did that you know you shouldn't have done, and write it down. You'll need a lot of papyrus."

Then, his eye caught a look at Jahaan, who was having trouble dealing with the border guard across the way. Squinting, he ventured, "Jahaan? Jahaan Alsiyad-Abut?"

Looking for salvation in the familiar voice, Jahaan glanced around for its origins and settled on Fahri, relief spreading across his tired features. "Fahri? Is that you?"

Grinning, Fahri cheered, "How long has it been, my friend?"

"Too long," Jahaan admitted with a sad smile. "It's good to see you again."

"And you. Are you having an issue, here?" Fahri looked over to the border guard Jahaan was dealing with, posing the question to him more than anything else.

With an open hand, the guard motioned at Jahaan's rune armour. "He looks like a knight to me. He's armed like one too. We've been told no knights."

Crinkling his brow, Fahri turned to Jahaan and inquired, "You are dressed very well. Are you a knight?"

"Nada," Jahaan replied, before correcting with a wince, "Well, I almost was, but they turned me down. The armour was compensation for the trouble. There was a battle, Mahjarrat rituals, long story. I'd love to tell you the whole thing over a drink later on, but right now, Ozan and I just want to do our part and help out the medics."

Shrugging, Fahri turned to the border guard and said, "He's a citizen of Menaphos, and I believe him when he said he's not a knight. Let him in."

Smiling gratefully, Jahaan assured the drink offer wasn't just bluster, and they agreed to catch up after Fahri's shift ended at sundown.

"May Het be with you, friends," Fahri said as they passed through into the warm embrace of Al Kharid.

Al Kharid was the only desert kingdom that wasn't separated by water from Misthalin, the kingdom Lumbridge resided in. In fact, despite their only being a mere fence between the two cities, they might as well have been separate planets for all the similarities they shared. Al Kharid was ruled by the Emir, although the vast majority of the work has been taken over by Chancellor Hassan ever since the Emir's son was kidnapped. Whilst being independent from Misthalin was a given, Al Kharid was notable for being the only city in the desert that did not kowtow to the Menaphos rulers, unlike the rest of the Khandarin Desert. Naturally, this friction erupted into a bitter war in the early Fifth Age, lasting decades. Fortunately, a peace agreement was established to protect the people and prosperity of both cities, and thus the free movement of all desert residents was permitted. Al Kharid was also the last city in the Khandarin Desert to be established, being built in the last years of the Fourth Age by settlers from the Southern Kharidian Desert. One important similarity that united all of the Khandarin Desert - with Al Kharid being no exception - is that the dominant religion was the Menaphite Pantheon. Most of the citizens of Al Kharid took to worshipping the demigod, Het, the god of health and fortitude.

While Al Kharid sent no soldiers to fight in the battle of Saradomin and Zamorak, they had agreed to help the refugees fleeing the destruction, and tend to the wounded on all sides, regardless of religion or politics. It came from the teachings of Het instilled in the residents of Al Kharid, meaning they had the desire to help and heal all that they could without hesitation. A noble people, and values Jahaan and Ozan both shared. It was the reason they decided to return to Al Kharid, to tend to the wounded. Both men knew field medicine, and felt a patriotic pull towards tending to the injured over taking up arms for gods they didn't support.

After venturing through the bustling crowds of residents and refugees alike, they made it to the crucible of activity, the place where people seemed to be either marching towards or returning from.

From the last time he was in Al Kharid, Jahaan recollected there being a market square right about where he was standing, where the tradesmen would shill everything from silk to gemstones, pots to bowls, and LOTS of waterskins, always handy for desert travel. Now, however, it'd been converted into a makeshift military hospital, with canopies and tents stretching almost to the city walls of the western end of Al Kharid. They were still rather close to the border gate, with people being stretchered past them sickenly often.

Blood stained nurses and franctic surgeons dashed past them to run to the nearest scream or wail, carrying instruments and soaking rags as they did. Jahaan caught the eye of one woman in particular, her eyes bloodshot and red, empty of all life yet full of the desperate drive to keep going, to deliver the potions she was transporting to her next patient, to work until she collapsed from the sheer exhaustion of it all.

It was evident that they were short staffed; Jahaan noticed a few people that looked like regular merchants and priests donning protective gloves too, helping out wherever they could.

"I'm going to find the surgeon general, or anyone who can point us to where to begin," Ozan announced, disappearing into the masses.

Jahaan was patiently awaiting his return when, from the corner of his eye, he saw people rushing towards the border as the sound of shouts and clattering built to a crescendo. The ruckus blended together the Common Tongue and the Menaphite Language quite roughly, a jagged mix of curse words and obscenities.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he went to investigate.

Crowds had gathered around the border gate, but they gave the commotion a wide berth. When he weaved through the crowds and made it to the fence, he saw four White Knights waving a piece of paper in front of one of the border guards' faces, yelling, "These are my orders and you're going to damn well carry them out! Do you understand me?"

"I'm not doing anything for you, _effendi_," the guard, Fahri, spat the courteous title like it was bile in his mouth. "We've taken in your woman, your children and your injured. My orders are to let no knights through this gate."

The White Knight squared up to Fahri, towering over him by a good few inches. For his part, Fahri didn't act phased. "You listen to me, _effendi _\- if Saradomin wants Al Kharid, he's going to get it, even if we have to take it for him. All we want is a base, to protect you from the Zamorakians. Isn't that what you want? Am I speaking in simple enough terms for you? These are orders from Saradomin himself!"

"I understand, but do you know where Saradomin's jurisdiction stops?" Fahri smiled smugly. "This gate."

Apparently, this was the final straw for the knight, who pushed Fahri back into the fence with such power that he almost toppled over it. The other three guards readied their scimitars for combat, while the knights drew their own longswords.

This was enough for Jahaan, who hopped the fence and demanded, "Hey, is there a problem here?"

Picking himself him, Fahri turned to Jahaan and calmly assured, "Ease, Jahaan. We have this under control."

"Yeah, back off, sandboy," the knight sneered, his hand on the hilt of his own weapon.

"What did you just call me?!" Jahaan charged up to the knight now, staring him with fire in his eyes.

"You heard me," the knight rounded on Jahaan, looking him up and down. "Whose corpse did you steal that armour from anyway?"

"I'll get my next set from you if you don't fuck off right now."

The knights all snickered, taking a few steps back from their leader, creating a ring around the two.

Their leader's smirk was a challenge, his eyes an insult. "You sandboys are all the same. Scrappy and foolhardy. Walk away before you get yourself hurt."

With a clenched fist, Jahaan leaned closer to the knight, his voice a blade. "Call me 'sandboy' one more time. I dare you."

"Or what?"

"Just… do it."

Looking around at his fellow knights, who's looks egged him on even further, the knight turned back to Jahaan and started, "Sandb-"

But before he could finish the last syllable, Jahaan whipped his dagger out at lightning speeds and slashed the man's throat. Lightning couldn't have moved as fast. Those that blinked would have missed the action, left only to see the wide-eyed knight clutching desperately at his throat as blood streamed through his fingertips. Within seconds, he fell to his knees, and finally the ground, a puddle of crimson pulsing from his neck, his body convulsing sporadically until it stopped moving all together.

Jahaan watched him fall with cold eyes. Then, he calmly put the still-dripping dagger back in its sheath, and drew one of his swords as he turned to the remaining, terrified knights.

With a sigh, he stretched out the kinks in his neck and readied his stance, inviting his first contender.

"Jahaan!" a wild voice called out from behind him, but Jahaan's gaze never wavered.

When the voice called again, it was much closer now. There was a brief murmur in the crowd, and then the next thing he knew, Ozan appeared in front of him, standing delicately between him and the knights.

If he saw Ozan, it didn't register on his features; his deathly glare was locked onto the three knights, a cool as the blade he was holding, ready for blood.

"Jahaan, I thought we pushed past this," Ozan whimpered, holding out his arms in a desperate effort to keep the knights and his friend at bay. When he looked closer into Jahaan's hollow eyes, however, he noticed they were staring right through him, like he wasn't even there.

"Jahaan," he repeated with increased urgency. "Jahaan, look at me. Jahaan."

A brief, fleeting glance in Ozan's direction. _Progress_.

"He just murdered a Saradominist commander!" one of the knights exclaimed, but there was a slight waver in his voice. "H-He's coming with us to answer for his crimes!"

Ozan glared through the knight, his voice deadly serious as he replied, "Try it. Each and every person here will take up arms before they allow you to hang one of our own. You're outnumbered, effendi."

The remaining knights looked to the crowds behind Ozan and Jahaan, and everyone they saw might as well have had a pitchfork in their hands, because they'd nailed the angry mob look to a tee. The border guards, Fahri included, saw no objection to fighting the knights to protect Jahaan, tightening the grip on his scimitar.

"Gather your man and go fight your war," Ozan continued, quietly. "This can be dealt with later."

Two of the knights looked to their new would-be commander for approval, and when they got it, they picked up the corpse and edged backwards, careful not to startle the mob or the angry men with scimitars as they did so.

"We'll be back, and your man will pay!" the would-be commander shouted as soon as they were a safe enough distance away. Then, they hurried back to their camp, their tail tucked rather neatly between their legs.

Ozan felt his whole body relax with the relief of it all. However, Jahaan had yet to recover. He still had that same empty glare in his eyes, the tightness in his lips, the firm grip on his sword; it was fight or flight, and from experience, Ozan knew that unless his friend was grounded soon, things could only get worse.

"Jahaan. It's me, Ozan. They're gone. It's okay now," Ozan's voice was soft, reassuring. "Do you know what you just did, Jahaan? You slit a man's throat. A White Knight's throat."

Jahaan's breathing changed ever so slightly.

"Jahaan, let's look at this seriously, okay?" Ozan tried to keep his friend lucid, tried to make him see the gravity of the situation. "You just murdered a Saradominist knight. You could be hung for this. Do you understand?"

Jahaan was blinking more now, his breathing starting to become slightly slower. "I just-"

"No no," Ozan returned to the task at hand. "Murder. Execution. YOU."

Finally, Jahaan's eyes met Ozan's, and they melted with realisation. "_Ya alqarf_."

Ozan's shoulder's sagged with relief; he had his friend back. "Yes, 'oh shit'. Indeed, 'oh shit'. We need to hide you in the desert. Come, quickly."

The two hopped back over the border and made a break for the bank, knowing there was no way they'd survive the desert heat with all Jahaan was wearing. Even runite armour has its limits. Quickly undressing down to his undershirt and black trousers, Jahaan handed over the set to the banker, alongside his shieldbow and quiver of arrows, and one of his two shortswords, after providing his account name and bank PIN. Unphased, the dead-eyed banker took his armour without word, a world-weary look about him and an unspoken sigh in every breath. With a wave of his hand, the armour was teleported away to wherever items go to when banked. Jahaan didn't really pay attention to any economics lessons growing up, so how the bank actually worked was beyond him.

_Let's just say magic and leave it at that,_ pretty much summed up his feelings on the matter.

Withdrawing a few more waterskins he'd deposited ages ago, Jahaan handed them to Ozan to fill up at the fountain across the way. He also withdrew a little more pocket change and a cowl to protect his neck from the beating sun.

But something was eating away at the back of his mind, and he couldn't let it go.

With a reluctant sigh, Jahaan called out, "Ozan, you can't go to the desert."

Puzzled, Ozan turned around and, with a hint of urgency as he looked towards the border gate in the distance, responded, "What are you talking about? You can't stay here right now. They could come back any minute!"

"That's not what I said," Jahaan clarified, softly. "I have to go, but you don't. Al Kharid is your home, these are your people… you know you want to stay and help them. I couldn't let myself take that opportunity away from you."

Ozan may be a man of the world, a jack of all trades and a friend of all peoples, but despite his cavalier attitude to life and his tendency to flit from one town to another in a heartbeat, Jahaan knew how much the chance to give back to his home city meant to Ozan. He'd never say it aloud, but Jahaan knew regardless. Despite the drunken bust-up in Seers' Village - to which Jahaan still felt overwhelming embarrassment - he did know his best friend, better than anyone.

The softening of Ozan's eyes told him everything he needed to know, and the man broke out into a sad smile. Handing back his waterskins to Jahaan, Ozan pulled the man into a tight _(but manly, totally manly) _embrace.

"Will you go to Menaphos?" Ozan queried, releasing his hold.

Shrugging, Jahaan replied, "I… I don't know. It's been so long… I have a friend I want to pay a visit to first, in Nardah. After that… who knows?"

"And when do you think you'll be back?"

"At least a week, maybe two. If they come for me, tell them the truth, that I went into the desert. They'd be idiots to follow."

Ozan sniffed a chuckle. "They'd be dead in a day."

The two said their goodbyes, parting amicably, knowing in their heart of hearts it was the right decision to make.

But before he could get too far, Ozan called out, "Hey Jahaan, one last thing."

Turning around, Jahaan motioned for Ozan to continue.

Grinning, Ozan said, "Saradomin or Zamorak. Loser buys the rounds. Fahri's too."

Thinking for a brief moment, Jahaan decided, "Saradomin. By sheer force of forehead, Sir Owen will not lose."

"Guess I'm Zammy then. Long live chaos!"

"For order!"

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	15. Quest 04: The Battle of Lumbridge (Ch3)

**Quest 04: The Battle of Lumbridge**

**Chapter 3 - Over To Nardah**

_Now that the gods can return to Gielinor, Saradomin and Zamorak waste little time and return to war once more. This time, Lumbridge is their battlefield. While the battle wages on, Jahaan tries to find out more about the mysterious Mahjarrat who has taken a particular interest in him..._

* * *

The Kharidian Desert was a vast land found south of the wooded kingdom of Misthalin and Morytania. The desert was the home to some of the oldest civilisations in Gielinor, ranging from the Menaphites that built the cities of Ullek and Uzer, to the bandits that are almost all that remain of the followers of Zaros. As a result, it is amongst the most history-rich and treasure-filled areas in the world. It is this that has attracted so many archaeologists and explorers to the area, but not without consequence. Here the scorching desert winds blasted the sand, turning the dunes into a sea. The blazing sun watched tirelessly from the sky, slowly draining the life of all that walks beneath it. The vultures circled overhead, eating the corpses of those that the desert bested, and packs of starving wolves searched endlessly for prey, their hunger never sated. Many have entered the desert, never to return.

Indeed, the Kharidian Desert has earned its reputation as dangerous, merciless, and unyielding, especially to those who underestimated it.

Because he did not have a deathwish, Jahaan took a magic carpet ride to Nardah, happy to pay the pricey fee over the alternatives, which included, but were not limited to: a camel ride with a rather surly camel, or one that dabbles in bad romantic poetry; riding in the back of a cart, potentially in a barrel (he'd seen a man transporting a woman in a barrel the last time he crossed the desert, but was certain it was a mirage… potentially… it was up for debate); or walking it. That last one… was tricky. He'd traversed the desert on foot before, leaving Menaphos on foot and, over a period of months, with a lot of pit stops at hydrated cities, made it all the way to Al Kharid.

It was not an experience he cared to repeat.

Now that magic carpets were a thing that even he could afford, he hopped on gladly, thankful that the breeze from the motion took over from the chokingly humid desert air that would fill his lungs with sand. He didn't exactly understand how these carpet rides worked, how they knew where to go without a driver, how they avoided all obstacles in their path, so Jahaan just accepted the answer of 'because magic' and left it at that.

It took only a few hours before the carpet landed safely at Nardah. When Jahaan stepped off, his body still felt like it was moving, his head swirling, and it made him feel rather dizzy. This proved most notable when he tried to walk in a straight line and veered distinguishably to the left, much to the amusement of the magic carpet operator.

Now he had the tricky task of remembering which house was the right one.

It had been a couple of years since he'd last been in Nardah, but thankfully the city hadn't changed all that much in the meantime. Previously, during his first excursion through the town, it was experiencing a severe drought. Many believed this was due to a curse placed upon the city by the goddess, Elidinis, who founded the city in the first place, and felt betrayed when a Saradominist preacher convinced the residents to worship the blue lord over her. Thankfully, this curse had been reversed in the meantime, and Nardah was hydrated and prosperous once more. Nevertheless, the city still appeared dilapidated and old, almost like a ruin, with many of the sandstone buildings crumbling.

Due to their near identical nature, it was hard to remember just exactly where the house he was looking for was located.

_On the outskirts, past the fountain, not THAT fountain… I think it was to the west of the library… was this statue here the last time I came through?_

The internal mumblings in Jahaan's mind did not echo confidence, and he grew more and more frustrated as he passed the same smither's workshop three times.

Eventually, he gave up, feeling like a defeated tourist, and asked for directions from some of the locals. At least then he was going in the right direction.

Finally, he arrived at the quaint little building he sought, a ornamental plaque hung from a nail on the door confirming this.

Jahaan knocked twice on the sturdy door, hearing the deep echo the contact of his knuckles made against the wood and noted it as a sign of good craftsmanship. It was a new addition to his humble abode.

Moments later, the door was prised open, and Ali the Wise greeted Jahaan with a pleasant smile and a humanoid appearance. "Jahaan! I did not know I would be seeing you so soon. Please, come in."

"Wahisietel," Jahaan greeted, walking through into his friend's living room. The place hadn't changed much since the last time he had passed through, though the book collection had, miraculously, increased tenfold. He'd also splashed out on a new set of bookshelves to match the lovely oak door, and even a new set of pots for the kitchen.

"Sit down, allow me to make you some tea," Wahisietel offered, motioning to the cushioned chairs. As he busied himself in the kitchen, Jahaan meekly called out, "I know you're a Mahjarrat, Wahisietel," he reminded, saying, "you don't have to stay in the disguise on my account."

Shaking his head, Wahisietel pointed out, "Mahjarrat are not very welcome in these parts. What if a neighbour happened to nose around my windows, hm? Besides, I'm rather comfortable in my Ali form."

Soon afterwards, he set down a tray on the table containing two cups of herbal tea and a plate of cream-filled biscuits. Thanking him, Jahaan made for a tasty looking circular one.

"So," Wahisietel took a sip from the boiling liquid. The word was more of a suggestion for input rather than an intent to begin a discussion of his choosing. Wahisietel knew Jahaan came here for a specific reason to get something off his mind. They didn't call him 'Ali the Wise' for nothing.

Eventually, Jahaan spoke up. "Have you talked to Azzanadra?" he tried not to allow his wince to come through. The fact that Wahisietel hadn't slammed the door in his face was a promising sign, but he still fretted internally.

Nodding gravely, Wahisietel danced around the matter with delicacy. "I did. He took… a while to calm down."

"And you're not mad at me because…?" Jahaan left the hole open for Wahisietel to enlighten him.

With a light chuckle, Wahisietel replied, "I am not as fervent with my beliefs as our beloved Pontifex; he took you disobeying Zaros' wishes as a personal affront. I, on the other hand, am of sound mind. You're entitled to whatever path you choose."

Feeling relief wash over him like a tsunami, Jahaan relaxed back in his chair. "Well, at least that's one Mahjarrat I haven't pissed off lately."

"Speaking of which," Wahisietel leaned forward in his chair. "Azzanadra told me that Sliske was the one that dealt the killing blow, and that you were there to witness it. He didn't try to kill you, however?"

"No. He tricked me into leading him straight to Guthix, betrayed me at the last second, then teleported away."

"That sounds like Sliske."

Jahaan bit his lip, putting his head in his hands with a frustrated sigh. It would be the perfect time to tell Wahisietel why he was really here, why he'd traveled halfway across the desert to drop in unannounced for more than lovely tea and polite conversation.

It was just… where to start? Without sounding crazy, that was.

"About Sliske…" Jahaan stretched out the creases in his neck, scratching at the back of his head and giving a long, drawn out sigh, delaying the inevitable as he did so. "Back at the Ritual Site, he said he'd been watching me for some time now. The fact that he fooled me by posing as an archeologist to get to Guthix… it got to me. I've been feeling rather paranoid ever since. There was… an incident…"

Wahisietel raised an eyebrow in curiosity, but Jahaan did not care to elaborate, instead saying, "I didn't really take his words seriously before, but after Guthix's death, and my role in it… I shouldn't have brushed him off so lightly. I have no idea why he's following me. I was hoping, as his brother-"

"Half-brother," Wahisietel was quick to correct.

"_Half_-brother," Jahaan emphasised. "I was hoping you'd have some insight as to why."

Taking a long, thoughtful sip of his tea, Wahisietel decided it needed more sugar, and thus added another cube.

"Hmm," he said as he enjoyed the sweet liquid, his brow well and truly furrowed. "I fear you may have misunderstood my relationship with my half-brother. Familial bonds have not tied us close. I do not know why he would have such a vested interest in you in particular. Had his speech about 'watching you' occurred after you became the World Guardian, then that I could understand - he would be interested in your power, your potential - but as it stands… I'm afraid I'm at a loss."

Shoulders sagging, Jahaan slumped back in his chair, burying his head in his hands. "Terrific."

"I'm sorry," Wahisietel weekly apologised, a light chuckle teasing his lips. "I can tell you're less than impressed with the wisdom I've been unable to impart."

"No, it's fine," Jahaan forced himself to smile. "I just… I feel like he's all around me, you know? It's haunting."

"Well, if he's any consolation, he's nowhere near Nardah now."

Jahaan felt relief wash over him. "Really?"

"Really," Wahisietel assured. "Enakhra and Akthanakos occasionally come near enough that I can feel their presence, but right now, no Mahjarrat are nearby."

"Enakhra's probably off fighting for Zamorak…"

It was an off the cuff remark, but boy, did that require some explaining, and another helping of tea and biscuits. Turns out that, while knowing that Saradomin had returned, and assuming that Zamorak was close behind, he didn't realise they were engaged in conflict at this very second.

Both Jahaan and the Mahjarrat were thankful they were far, FAR away from Lumbridge right about now.

Once the conversation rounded back on track, Jahaan finally asked another one of the burning questions he'd originally come for, "I know the Mahjarrat can sense each other and all, but is there any way I can tell if Sliske's around? I need something to help this paranoia."

The look on Wahisietel's face was not encouraging. "Not particularly. When shapeshifted into a human disguise, Mahjarrat can do everything you humans can, like eat, drink… everything we need to pass off as one of your kind. To your limited human senses, we radiate no magic, either."

Just as Jahaan was about to give up hope, Wahisietel piped up, "There is one thing… Jahaan, humour me, and touch the space between your eyes."

Crinkling his brow, it wasn't until Wahisietel insisted further that Jahaan did as he was told, feeling silly as he did so.

"What do you notice?" Wahisietel inquired, rhetoricism obvious in his tone.

"Uhh… nothing?"

"Exactly. Now, touch the same spot between my eyes."

Wahisietel leaned forward, and instinctively, Jahaan leaned backwards. After Wahisietel repeated the request, Jahaan just about forced his hand to cooperate, feeling very awkward as he did so. As soon as he made contact, he pulled his hand back with a gasp.

It was near boiling to the touch. "Whoa."

Placing two fingers between his eyes, Wahisietel explained, "This is where the Mahjarrat's crystal is embedded in our foreheads. No matter what disguise we undertake, if the skin at this area is thin enough - which, on a human form, it is - you will be able to feel the heat from the crystal.

Granted, the idea of touching everyone he suspected of being a Mahjarrat on the forehead didn't exactly feel Jahaan with glee, it was certainly better than nothing. "Thanks, Wahisietel. I really appreciate it."

"Oh, that reminds me," Wahisietel quickly shot up from his chair and hurried over to one of his many bookshelves. "After our last meeting, I set something aside for you, something that might give you an unbiased, third party perspective on my half-brother," after half a minute's searching, he pulled out a thin blue-spined book. Blowing dust from the cover, he handed it carefully over to Jahaan, who took it very delicately, aware of how torn and damaged both the spine and cover were.

"How old is this book?" Jahaan couldn't even make out the writing on the front, it was so faded.

"It's an original, from the Second Age," Wahisietel replied.

Aware of the fragility and, with this new information, rarity and subsequent value of the book, Jahaan held it like a newborn, very gently opening it up to the first page. When he did, his eyes began to hurt as they tried to register the symbols on the page. Squinting, he began to say, "Um, Wahisietel…"

Smiling softly, Wahisietel replied, "It is written in the ancient Menaphosi script. I did not think you would be versed in such an outdated language, so I translated the relevant sections of the book. Go to the marked page."

Seeing the tip of a feather jutting from near the middle of the book, Jahaan turned to it, relieved to see pieces of papyrus tucked inside, all written in the Common Tongue. Removing them, he gently handed the book back to Wahisietel and shuffled the pages into order.

Blinking, he read aloud, "The Book of Sliske?"

Nodding with a disappointed grimace, Wahisietel said, "It's written by a mercenary of Icthlarin's called Gram Kobold, who later became a prominent commander in his armies. There are many accounts of the Mahjarrat's arrival on Gielinor, but his focused almost obsessively on my half-brother. I thought it might be of some interest to you."

Tucking the papyrus away in his pocket, Jahaan replied, "Thanks, Wahisietel. I owe you one."

"You owe me nothing," Wahisietel assured. "After your assistance in dispatching Lucien, it is the least I could do."

After leaving Wahisietel's humble abode, he made for the nearest inn, wanting to take residence there for the night. While he definitely did not want to put Wahisietel out by asking for a lodging, Jahaan was in no hurry to leave Nardah; the presence of Wahisietel provided a sense of comfort that Jahaan had been lacking these last few days. He felt impervious to Sliske's stalking here, knowing that his half-brother could sense his presence and make it known.

So after getting a hearty dinner out of the innkeeper and finding a decent enough room to slumber in, Jahaan took to said room and settled down for an early night.

But before he allowed the pull of tiredness to drag him into the realm of sleep, Jahaan pulled out the translation Wahisietel had given him, lit a dim candle, and began to read…

_The Zarosians spilled over our front lines, mixing dust with blood. Their fervour for battle was insatiable. We were ordered to retreat at first light, but we knew we wouldn't make it to dawn. We needed the Kharidian gods to grace the battlefield now; morale was low and the last embers of their civilisation were flickering out. I weighed my coin-bag and wondered if it was time to abandon the life of a mercenary, to steal a ship and leave._

_Then, we were blinded momentarily by a burning light, and the ground began to rumble. A wind came rolling across the plains like a tidal wave, drowning out the cries of war. The light spread like a flame burning through parchment, opening a tear in the very fabric of the world. From that yawning rift a small army marched forth, the ground quaking beneath their feet. A figure held the portal open, the head of a jackal atop its shoulders. Icthlarin had returned, and he had brought reinforcements._

_It was a turning point in the Kharidian-Zarosian war. Icthlarin's warriors crashed into the Zarosian forces. Their commanders were terrifying to behold - mighty sorcerers, whose name sounded foreign to our ears. The army gave them a new name: the 'Stern Judges'. They towered over us by some feet, clad in robes, with a ridge on their foreheads. One in particular made an impression on me, his laugh echoing in my ears and his rictus grin etched into my memory. His name was Sliske, and he appeared and disappeared at will. He was feared by the soldiers and distrusted by his own kind. I felt a kinship with him, despite being awed by his power. Far away, I could make out the Kharidian gods thundering through the enemy, with the Stern Judges at their backs. But Sliske had a different goal, and he moved in other directions. He moved silently; I was barely able to keep track of him as he shifted between shadows. I gave chase, plunging my sword into hapless soldiers in my path._

_As I struggled to keep pace with Sliske, I became lost in darkness, the only illumination coming from torches. I fought onwards, and Sliske materialised in a group of enemies. He did not seem to favour his blade; instead, he placed a hand on their armour, and both he and the enemy disappeared. Moments later, Sliske would return, but his opponent would be gone._

_Suddenly, I was struck and knocked to the ground, and found myself on my back with a blade at my throat, staring into the wild eyes of a Zarosian scout. Fear washed over me as I heard steel slicing through flesh… but I felt nothing, save a warm trickle of blood on my chest. The body was tossed aside like a doll, and his face peered down at me instead. I shall never forget that grin - like a skull, covered in a veneer of ridged, grey flesh. My eyes locked with Sliske's as he put his finger to his lips. He smiled, and was gone._

_In the months that followed, Icthlarin led the charge northwards across the River Elid. I watched in awe as the Stern Judges overpowered their foes. Despite my fascination with Sliske, I found him nigh-impossible to track; one minute I would be watching from afar, the next he would vanish. He built an entourage of spectral wights, shimmering with blacks and purples, converting some of the foes he felled into warriors of his own, undead spirits that returned to serve him._

_We finally reached the mountains, and the forces of Zaros made their stand in a narrow pass. Despite their tactical advantage, we were victorious that day. The dust settled and the blood on our swords boiled in the sun. With the majority of the Kharidian Lands reclaimed, Icthlarin demanded that Sliske release his wights to him, so he could guide them to the Underworld. When Sliske refused, Icthlarin took them by force. With a swipe of his hand, Icthlarin obliterated their own ranks. Sliske simply narrowed his eyes and smiled. With a gesture he was gone, and the two never counted one another as a friend from that day._

_It was the last I saw of Sliske._

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	16. Quest 04: The Battle of Lumbridge (Ch4)

**Quest 04: The Battle of Lumbridge**

**Chapter 4 - Reconstruct**

_Now that the gods can return to Gielinor, Saradomin and Zamorak waste little time and return to war once more. This time, Lumbridge is their battlefield. While the battle wages on, Jahaan tries to find out more about the mysterious Mahjarrat who has taken a particular interest in him..._

* * *

By this time, most of the innocent civilians of Lumbridge had been evacuated from their homes, sent as refugees either to Al Kharid or into camps bordering Draynor Village, safe behind the battlelines. That left Lumbridge up for grabs, a blood-soaked playground for the gods and their armies.

Sir Owen, the man with a forehead that just didn't quit, entered the command centre, saluting Sir Tiffy when he approached him. "Sir."

"How goes it, Sir Owen?" Sir Tiffy enquired, a teacup sealed to his hands indefinitely.

"I have been confiring with a small selection of trusted mages, priests and divination experts in trying to comprehend the peculiar green substance that has appeared in the ground," he explained, handing over a collection of scribbled notes and diagrams for reference, which Sir Tiffy examined closely, his monocle doing most of the work. "It's undoubtedly divine energy, from the gods."

"Hmm, yes, yes. And what do we know of this divine energy, beyond the fact that it is, indeed, divine?"

"Not much so far," Ariane admitted. Being a respected member of the Legends' Guild, Ariane had rightfully earned her place at the side of the highest ranking Saradominist knights, a trusted advisor. "The leading theory is that this is leftover energy from Guthix's death, and said energy can be harnessed by the gods to increase their power, hence Saradomin has ordered us to collect it from craters scattered around Lumbridge and deliver it to him."

"Unfortunately, it's not as easy as that," Sir Owen regretfully informed, "While our armies outnumber the Zamorakians two to one, I am ashamed to report that their fighting prowess outmatches that of most of our lower ranked knights. The numbers disadvantage has not phased them, and we have been unable to capitalise."

"I see…" Sir Tiffy took a thoughtful, prolonged sip of his tea. "We need to get that energy to Saradomin, but if we send our boys out to do nothing else, they'll get slaughtered, what? So, I propose this," he turned to Sir Owen, instructing, "Split your forces into quarters. I want a quarter to gather the energy, a quarter to act as their bodyguards, and the remaining half to tackle the Zamorakians head on. We need to keep that pressure on them, or else ol' Zamorak will get all the divine energy himself!"

"Yes sir," Sir Owen saluted, leaving to complete his orders.

Finishing up the last of his tea, Sir Tiffy offered, "Right, hm, anyone fancy a cuppa?"

In the end, Jahaan had spent a week in that Nardah inn, and he was becoming restless. It wasn't exactly a tourist destination, Nardah, and he didn't want to fork out the money to travel to the next biggest city, Pollnivneach.

Briefly, the thought crossed his mind to travel back to Menaphos. Actually, the thought crossed his mind several times, persistent and unrelenting, especially as more days passed.

But in his heart of hearts, he knew he didn't want to go back.

He didn't want to go back to The Golden City, to walk through the imposing gates that towered into the clouds and beyond.

He didn't want to walk through the district of the merchant's who flogged their wares tirelessly, from silk to golden lamps, so abrasive to outsiders and yet so dependent on their business. Where the streets were perfectly paved and those that resided their wore beautiful robes of blue and gold, woven by a delicate hand.

He didn't want to pass by the worker's district, where the less fortunate found themselves trapped in an endless cycle of poverty, reduced to working the clay mines. It was the only part of the city with an altar.

He didn't want to look up at the Golden Palace in the Imperial District, the district where only the upper echelons of society could take resident. The architecture was at its finest here, polished marble and brilliantly carved stone constructing every building and statue.

He didn't want to walk across the city's main plaza; here, the statues of the four lesser deities of the Pantheon - Het, Apmeken, Crondis and Scabaras - were erected.

He didn't want to end up back in the Port District where the stench of raw fish blended together with salty sea air would coat your lungs and throat in a mere moment. He didn't want to see any of the children running across the pathways, gawking at the tremendous ships with mouths hung agape.

It had been just over ten years, and he didn't want to go back. He'd be going back a changed man, someone alien in comparison, near unrecognisable to those who once knew him. He _most certainly_ didn't want to be recognised by anyone who once knew him. It wouldn't be a welcomed reunion on any account; a lot would love to see his head detached from his shoulders for all he put them through.

Jahaan didn't want to relive the memories of everything he was back then.

He especially didn't want to see his uncle, if the man was even still alive. He'd been a fisherman, earning a decent enough living to provide for the two of them. The fact that he'd been a decent enough man to adopt Jahaan from his mother who was content enough to leave him on a church doorstep, or worse, spoke volumes of his character. And yet, Jahaan never showed enough gratitude, never properly repaid the man for all he'd done.

His uncle wasn't proud of him. That much was obvious. Why would he be? He was left raise a child that learned to talk back as soon as he could speak, ran with the wrong crowds as soon as he was old enough to sneak away, either staying out all night or being dragged home by the authorities, caught in the middle of some petty crime. He taught himself to fight, and fight well, preferring the lessons life threw at him over the ones he could have learned if he'd ever turned up to his studies.

He left home before his fifteenth birthday, and left Menaphos before he turned twenty-five, having not returned since.

However, Jahaan had changed. He knew he had. From the people that came into his life, like Ozan, and from the travels he embarked on, his character had been shaped for the better. Compassion over callousness, honour and loyalty over selfishness, treating people with respect and kindness over dominating them with fear.

But Jahaan did not want his uncle to know this. He wanted his uncle to live and die thinking that his nephew was scum, that he'd never amount to anything, because that's what Jahaan felt like he deserved. He didn't want his uncle's approval, because he'd never earned it.

That's why he couldn't go back to Menaphos.

That's why, the next day, he headed back to Al Kharid, to be the World Guardian, to help the wounded, to be a good person, or as good as anyone can be in this world.

The journey from Nardah on the magic carpet wasn't much better than the journey going. In fact, he felt significantly worse after landing, having to take a good five minutes sitting at the edge of a sandy pavement before his head stopped spinning. After that, he made for the medical tents.

When Jahaan finally found Ozan, he was perched on the bedside of a young boy, a bandage wrapped around his forehead. His mother was next to them, and they all laughed at something Ozan had said.

Jahaan enjoyed watching the scene; it warmed his heart. So, he patiently waited for his friend to naturally catch his eye. It took a few minutes, but he did so, a wide grin spreading across his face as he excused himself and hurried over to Jahaan. "You're back!"

"I'm back," Jahaan confirmed, returning the grin. "Miss me?"

"Like a hole in my heart," Ozan waved a theatrical hand towards his chest. "How was the desert? Did you end up in Menaphos?"

"No, I decided against it. I went to go see Wahisietel, though."

"He's… one of the Mahjarrat, right?"

"Sliske's half-brother," Jahaan explained, wincing at the way Ozan reacted to the tainted name. "Don't worry, he's nothing like him. He's not too different from his Ali the Wise persona."

Ozan was visibly relieved. "That's good to hear. I'm glad you left when you did - there was a bit of a ruckus not too long after you left."

The guilt returned to Jahaan in a heartbeat. "Shit. There wasn't another fight, was there?"

Ozan shook his head. "Fahri calmed them down. They haven't been back since. I'm hoping by the end of the war they would have forgotten about you."

"I'm hoping for the same thing," Jahaan gave a nervous laugh. Then, he rubbed the palms of his hands together and asked, "So, where can I get stuck in?"

The war lasted thirteen bloody weeks, casualties of unfathomable proportions amounting on both sides. The two deities were so well-matched in terms of power that it came down to who could gather the most of Guthix's remaining energy. That ended up being the deciding factor in their war.

Then, one day, the dust would finally settle.

A warcry, a scream, a blue and gold trimmed cape dancing behind Saradomin as he persisted, relentlessly, in his attack. The divine energy that was being channeled into him flowed through his veins, coursing like electric-charged blood throughout his body. The stream of energy that pooled out of his hand and towards Zamorak was increasing by the second, and he knew that the battle was swayed firmly in his favour. His armies had kept the black knights at bay and had collected more of Guthix's divine energy than their Zamorakian counterparts; it wouldn't be long now before he could end his rival once and for all.

With growing confidence, he sent an extra surge towards the red-winged Mahjarrat. Zamorak kept up the defence, but he was straining, his knees buckling under the weight of Saradomin's attack.

More of Guthix's power flowed into his staff, and with a blood-thirsty growl, he swung the staff towards Zamorak and shot a heavy burst of energy at him, causing his foe to fall to his knees, gasping for breath.

It was then that Saradomin began to charge.

Narrowing his eyes into slits, shining with anger and desperation, Zamorak threw everything he had back at his blue-skinned rival, every last ounce of power he could summon.

It was enough to halt Saradomin in his tracks and cause the deity to falter, being pushed backwards and struggling under Zamorak's might.

But it wasn't enough.

Saradomin countered the attack, using the energy poured him to Zamorak's detriment, redirecting it back at the Mahjarrat. A stream of red-tinted magic became washed away in a tidal wave of blue, and when the energy made contact with Zamorak's chest, the deity was thrown backwards, tumbling to the ground. A limp hand clutched at his own chest as he fought for breath, trying not to slip into the realms of unconsciousness. He knew Saradomin would be charging up another attack, a killing blow, but no matter how hard he tried to will his limbs to move, they simply wouldn't cooperate; blackness danced around the edges of his mind, daring to take over completely.

In a flash, the pink-eyed woman teleported beside her fallen master, pulling him upright, terrified and helpless as he lulled forwards, coughing up blood and bile.

Saradomin's staff glowed, and in her peripheral vision, she saw this.

Knowing there was no alternative, that her master would die if she did not interfere, she raised a hand to the skies and teleported the two of them away to safety, just as Saradomin made a move to strike.

Clenching his fists, Saradomin roared in frustration, cursing in a tongue long-since abandoned, but the scream of "COWARD" could be heard across all of Lumbridge and beyond.

Once he calmed himself down, Saradomin turned to what was left of his armies, surveyed all that remained of Lumbridge, and raised his staff to the skies, crying out, "Victory is ours!" before teleporting away, leaving rubble, wounded and dead in his wake.

As soon as it had begun, the battle was over.

Saradomin had won, and Fahri and Jahaan got very drunk on Ozan's dime that night.

Nobody ever really thinks too much about the aftermath of a war, what happens to the regular people whose lives have been turned upside down for a conflict that wasn't theirs.

The dairy maid whose livestock were slaughtered in the crossfire, her prized dairy cow being her prime source of income, now buried among the rubble. The master farmer to the north, whose entire farm was trampled by the careless foot of a callous deity who cared little for his livelihood. The entire townsworth of people uprooted by the chaos, now trying to locate their houses among the charred remains of Lumbridge. Merchants who had stores in the town now had nowhere to sell, and no-one to sell too. After all, who was interested in a new pickaxe when you don't even have a roof over your head?

The displaced populous were left to shelter in makeshift camps, soldiers handing out rations and allocating tents. Some remained Al Kharid, allowed refugee status; the kind folk of the city even offered spare rooms to homeless families, if they had room to spare.

Then there was the case of the injured; people don't stop dying after the battle stops. Lingering injuries may take bad ways, old wounds can reopen if not treated properly, and some people never wake up from comas they'd fallen into.

The rebuilding effort started with the soldiers and knights of Saradomin's forces - you can say that about them, they didn't abandon the town like the Zamorakians did. Soon after, men and women who were fortunate enough to survive the war and leave unscathed volunteered to help. Granted, as soon as some of the less injured became mobile, they joined in too. It became quite a well-oiled machine, coordinated by the Duke and some of the higher tiered Saradominist soldiers. Carpenters and construction workers from across Gielinor were contracted by the Duke to aid in the rebuilding, bringing with them supplies and tools. It certainly strained the town's money purse, but it was necessary.

The first priority was to clear away the rubble, shaping an outline of what the town was before the war, with broken cobbles forming paths that led to half-destroyed buildings. The task was beyond a facing, but there was hope.

Five weeks had passed, and morale was high on the Lumbridge side of the fence. Some people were even able to return to their homes. At least, those on the outskirts… the centre of the town was another matter entirely.

Jahaan and Ozan had remained in Al Kharid after the battle had ceased in order to aid the wounded and help them recover enough to return to Lumbridge, or to find them shelter somewhere in the desert city. The amount of injured soldiers they had taken in stretched their efforts to full capacity, but they just about managed.

It was wrong, and he knew it, but Jahaan couldn't help feel a twinge of pride at his efforts in the war. It was a change, managing to help people without violence, without having to kill in the process. Ozan, too, had become a completely different man. The children had taken to naming him 'Ozzy', and wouldn't let him go more than a few hours before whining for his attention, either to play little games or to be told a story. Ozan LOVED telling stories, and the children lapped it up like cats with tuna.

Now, Jahaan wasn't overly fond of children, but even he thought it was borderline adorable.

Jahaan had just finished re-wrapping the wound of a white knight and left to go and check up on the Temple Knight four beds down who had taken an arrow to the knee, but when he heard the loud echo of his rumbling stomach, he remembered that he hadn't eaten in about eighteen hours.

It had been a LONG night. They were always long nights.

Still, Jahaan thought he could justify taking just five or ten minutes to grab a kebab, maybe hydrate a little, before getting back into it all.

_Best laid plans and all..._

He was making his way towards the war hospital entrance when someone ran full pelt into his back, sending Jahaan stumbling forwards, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. Instinctively, Jahaan assumed he was being attacked, and thus went for his dagger. However, when he got a good look at who had crashed into him, his fighting instinct relaxed into confusion.

"Gypsy Aris?"

The woman had heavy black circles around her eyes, dark makeup contrasting violently with her pure white hair, pinned back by a violet headband. Age was not her enemy, nor her friend, as while she had wrinkles shaping heer features, her eyes were youthful, full of life and energy, but hidden within them were secrets and histories mere mortals were ignorant to.

These eyes shot up at Jahaan, wild, like a frightened deer. "It's you! Thank Guthix I am not too late…"

Despite making a living as a fortune teller, Gypsy Aris never could quite handle the concept of being on time. Then again, it was this foible that saved her from being trapped under the Culinaromancer's spell, for she arrived late to the meeting that he gate-crashed in his attempt to eliminate the Secret Council of Gielinor on his way to world domination.

Sound like a lot to take in? Jahaan had to deal with the fall-out, sending him halfway across the world in order to find each council member's favourite recipe in order to free them from the trance they were stuck in.

Sometimes adventurers really do get the craziest of assignments.

This was his last encounter of the gypsy; he hadn't seen her since, for her tent was located in the middle of Varrock Square, and Jahaan would rather eat his own toenails then travel to Varrock.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, chuckling lightly at her flustered state. "The battle's over."

"I had a vision!" she proclaimed, loud enough to get some shady looks from passersby. In light of this, he ushered her towards an unoccupied tent as she babbled, "It was you! But you move, by the gods you move so much, I feared you would not be here, but here you are! I have to tell you, it's important."

"Okay, calm down, calm down," Jahaan tried to ease her, motioning for her to sit on the edge of a bed, but she refused.

"We have no time, World Guardian," she hurriedly explained, "Oh yes, I know you're the World Guardian. Guthix bestowed you a great honour, a blessing and a curse, as it will all come down to you, Jahaan Alsiyad-Abut. It is how it has always been, but will change. You have always been written, but now revealed. But ah, the souls, they will not rise! It is then your fate will be sealed, the path you can't ever walk away from. Are you ready to do your duty, World Guardian?"

Jahaan didn't do a great job of hiding his perplexion. _What on Gielinor is she talking about? Why can't these mystic types ever speak coherently?_

For some reason, in all her power and wisdom, Gypsy Aris didn't register Jahaan's confusion, and seemed to be waiting anxiously for an answer.

Hesitantly, Jahaan ventured, "Y-Yes…?"

Gypsy Aris exhaled in relief so deeply that it felt like she was breathing out all her life essence at once, her enter body falling forwards. She stopped moving for a few seconds, and Jahaan genuinely wondered if she'd ACTUALLY somehow let go of her life essence, just deciding to die there and then.

But just as he went to shake her, she bolted back to life, rummaging through her pockets and practically throwing a handful of rune stones at Jahaan. Startled, he scrambled not to let go of them, starting to ask, "What are these f-"

"When you leave here, they will find you. These mortals do not forget," the word 'explained' was tentative at best, but Gypsy Aris tried to convey _something _to Jahaan. "They will trap you, and you must use these to flee. When the time comes, you will know. Let the magic take you. Then HE will find you, for the souls will not rise, and death will cease to be. You must help him."

She took Jahaan's hands in hers, clutching onto them desperately, her eyes burning into his. "When the world speaks, you must listen."

Suddenly, she released him, straightening up her headband as she said, "I must leave. Remember your purpose, Jahaan."

And with that, she disappeared in a twirl of golden energy.

Jahaan slumped down onto the bed next to him, his mouth still hung agape as it hand been since she'd started talking. He tried to replay the conversation in his head, but in slow motion, attempting to decipher at least some of what she was going on about.

While Gypsy Aris was certainly a character, unfortunately she was almost always onto something, and her visions rarely lied. She seemed panicked, desperate, and it had something to do with him.

_How did she know Guthix's last words? I never told them to anyone…_

That was only one of the many mysteries she had teased in her babbling. Delicately, he toyed with the rune stones in his palms - a law and water rune. Law runes were typically used for teleportation spells, and if water runes were added to them, that would transport him to Ardougne.

_Why Ardougne?_ He puzzled, the words and phrases of the gypsy's monologue rattling around his aching head. Tucking the runes away in his pocket, he continued to make his way towards Ali the Kebab Seller, hoping that everything would miraculously make sense on a full stomach.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	17. Quest 05: Missing, Presumed Death (Ch1)

**Quest 05: Missing, Presumed Death**

**Chapter 1 - Undying**

_Sliske invites all of Gielinor's returned gods to his 'grand ascendency', claiming godhood. Instead, he uses the platform to pit all the gods against one another in a free-for-all that threatens to tear Gielinor apart. Their incentive? The sole survivor will be awarded what every deity is desperate for - the Stone of Jas..._

* * *

It was a good three weeks before things calmed down in the war hospital enough that Ozan and Jahaan were dismissed from their duties. They'd been immersed in such a chaotic environment for so long that when they suddenly stopped it was a shock to the system, and both men felt rather displaced. Since Ozan decided to go and reunite with Ariane and Coal - who he had been separated from since the war began - Jahaan thought to tag along and see if he could assist in any of the rebuilding of Lumbridge before he settled upon what to do next. That was the issue after having left the Imperial Guard - finding purpose in day-to-day life. Up until now, life had done a pretty good job of throwing him into adventure, for better or for worse. Being directionless wasn't his strong suit.

_I've always wanted to see Prifddinas for myself, _Jahaan toyed with the idea in his mind. _Though it's the other side of the world. I can't walk it. Fuck that noise. I'd need a teleport. Maybe Ariane could get me close…_

The two men walked through the remains of Lumbridge, pleased to see just how well the rebuilding effort was going. A lot of structures had four walls now, some of them even a sturdy looking roof. They hadn't witnessed the destruction at the hands of the gods themselves, but if it was anything like the stories the wounded had told them, then the progress they've made in rebuilding this much was incredible.

After getting some directions from a knight, they were told Ariane would likely be found in or around the mill at the northern end of the town where the Saradominist camp had set up a base of operations. As they approached, Ozan saw Ariane alternating between hand-feeding the chickens some grain in the neighbouring field and ushering Coal away from eating the chickens whole. His face broke into a picture of happiness.

"I'm going to see Sir Tiffy," Jahaan gave his friend a pat on his back, but Ozan was too captivated to hear him or notice the gesture. "I'll catch up to you later."

"Hm, what?" Ozan drawled, dreamily. "Oh, right. Catch you later."

With that, he made for the field, and Jahaan watched him go, feeling like he was watching a romantic play in action, overdosing on the sappiness of it all. After forcing himself to stop grinning like an idiot at the sight, he made for the mill entrance.

A white knight stopped him, asking for his credentials. After giving him his name, the knight retreated inside, and moments later, a cheery old voice called out, "Come in, my boy!"

A warm grin spread across Jahaan's face. Sir Tiffy's voice never failed to cheer him up.

The mill seemed a lot bigger on the inside than it did outside, fitting desks, armour stands and enough of Saradomin's top knights with room to spare. When he caught Sir Tiffy's eye, he bowed in greeting.

"Forget that son, come here!" Sir Tiffy motioned him in for a hug. Knowing it would be rude to refuse, Jahaan forfeited his personal space long enough to allow the old knight to give him a tight squeeze, one with the amount of enthusiasm only reserved for drunk people. It was made worse by the fact the knight was wearing armour.

Finally releasing the man he was suffocating, Sir Tiffy motioned for Jahaan to sit opposite him and exclaimed, "I haven't seen you in so long, lad! Would you like a cup of tea?"

Politely, Jahaan declined. Sir Tiffy ordered one for himself before asking, "How's Al Kharid? It was a shame you didn't stay and fight - we could have done with your help - but I understand, my boy."

"It was nice to be back in the desert," Jahaan replied, dancing past the whole 'abandoning Saradomin' debate that Sir Owen had brought up when he first left. "Congratulations on your victory."

"Ah, it was marvelous! Such an honour to fight under the lord himself, what?" Sir Tiffy took the piping hot cup of tea and sipped it delicately.

"Sir, the priest has an issue with the placement of his new church," one of the knights barged into mil, sleepless eyes that told the world he'd 'had it up to here' with everyone and everything. "He says that the river is too-"

That was when his eyes caught Jahaan's, and in a flash, his sword was drawn. Instinctively, Jahaan shot up from his chair and drew his own, backing himself up into a wall. Like dominos, other knights drew their swords and pointed them at Jahaan.

_Oh shit. He remembered._

Sir Tiffy shot up from behind his desk. "What is the meaning of this here, what?"

"It's him," the knight spat. "The one that killed Sir Tenly at the Al Kharid border!"

Sir Tiffy looked heartbroken, sorrowful eyes resting upon a panic-stricken Jahaan who looked like a cornered animal. "Is it true, lad?"

"It… it happened so fast!" Jahaan felt the weight of disapproval and anger directed at him, heavier than any armour. It broke his own heart, the thought of disappointing one of his heroes. "I didn't mean to. I just-... he just-..."

His defence was as flimsy as papyrus, and worth as much too.

"Jahaan, I didn't take you for a… for a murderer," Sir Tiffy choked. "When I heard about the incident, never in a lifetime would I have thought it'd be you to murder one of my boys…"

"I'm not a murderer!" Jahaan protested, but it was in vain. He knew it was too late for him.

With a long, painful sigh, Sir Tiffy announced, "I have no choice. Until this here matter is cleared up, I am arresting you in the name of Saradomin. Put down your sword, lad."

_Fuck that._

Jahaan pressed himself backwards even further, the wall greeting him like an unwelcome house guest. Seeing how he was outnumbered, without armour and in the middle of Saradominist territory, he didn't fancy his chances in a sword fight. Instead, he subtly reached into his pocket and clasped his hand around the runes Gypsy Aris had given him all that time ago, thanking the gods he'd thought to keep ahold of them.

Runes came with certain charges infused into them; for this particular spell Gypsy Aris wanted him to use, he needed two of each element, so two charges were placed into the runes. The tiny stones felt warm in his palms, buzzing with hidden energy.

Taking a deep, measured breath, he tried to calm himself and focus on the centre of East Ardougne's market square. He tried to picture all the stalls, the guards patrolling the premise, the people rushing about the place, desperate for a deal. If he had a clear enough mind and focused correctly, he should be whisked away and planted in the market square. At least, that's what he thought. The wizards that tried to teach him teleportation didn't really go into much detail, and honestly, he had no idea how or why it worked. So many people use it as an effective means of transportation, but magic really wasn't Jahaan's cup of tea. He felt more comfortable with something tangible in his hands, and while the rune stones were technically tangible, the energy and magic they exuded was far from it.

Though he knew it wasn't ideal, and he'd be making an enemy of just about Saradominist knight for doing so, Jahaan decided upon 'fuck it', and tried to channel the spell.

Exhaling slowly, Jahaan concentrated so hard, focused so much on trying to block out the chaos surrounding him, until eventually he was whisked away, furious knights shouting at him in his wake.

When he opened his eyes, many people were standing over him, a lot of them laughing. He felt something very uncomfortable beneath him, jagged and sharp, but right next to it was something undeniably soft and squishy. When he managed to examine his hand, he noticed it was covered in jam.

"GER OFF ME STALL!" came a loud, bellowing voice, followed by rough hands forcing him to his feet. He tried to gather his bearings, quickly trying to shake off the wave of nausea that always accompanied his teleportation attempts.

_Well, at least I made it to the market..._

Behind him was the collapsed remains of the cake stall he'd landed on, accompanied by the very cross looking stall owner. Guards were enclosing on him, looking equally cross.

He briefly opened his mouth to try and explain himself, then thought better of it, instead deciding to follow the philosophy that had served him vaguely well for the last couple of hours:

_Fuck it._

With that, he took off running, bolting out of the market square and through the smaller streets of the outskirts of East Ardougne, not even looking back to see how many guards were on his tail. Oh, he was definitely being pursued - he could hear their footsteps and panting behind him - but Jahaan had the stamina advantage, and after enough ducking weaving between side streets, he lost the guards.

Straightening himself out, Jahaan took a long gulp of water from his waterskin, caught his breath, and tried to look as non-suspicious as possible as he left through the city gates.

_Well, that didn't go as well as I'd hoped,_ Jahaan huffed, not dawdling around the city's walls for more than a moment's breath. Instead, he kept running north, wanting to put as much distance between angry guards and himself as possible.

Once he was sure he wasn't being pursued any longer, Jahaan all but collapsed on the grass, doubled over and fighting for breath. _Damn, I need to work on my cardio…_

Suddenly Gypsy Aris' vision seemed to make a lot more sense. _How did she know?_ Jahaan wondered, _And why couldn't she have foreseen a destiny with less being chased by angry men with swords?_

Another thought popped into his head - Ozan. Word would have gotten around by now, so hopefully he'd at least know he was safe, but Jahaan decided to send a letter next time he saw Postie Pete roaming around, just in case.

Picking himself off the could and wiping dry the grass stains he'd accrued, Jahaan examined his surroundings. Well, what little there were.

Trees. Trees as far as the eye can see. The rough outline of a structure to the north-east Jahaan deduced would be the Legends' Guild, and thus knew to stay far away from that. Seeing as the nearest civilisation (that wasn't Ardougne) was Seers' Village, he decided to make his way back up there, hoping they'd allow him back in the pub after the ruckus he created last time, and figure out what to do after a few drinks and decent meal inside him.

So, using the sun as a compass, he started walking.

And walking, and walking.

_A lot of this adventuring lark really is nothing but walking._

Then, breaking him out of his daydream-like trance he'd found himself in as he lumbered onwards, a weak voice called out from behind him, "Kind sir, please wait!"

When Jahaan turned to the west, the origin of the cry, he saw a bloodstained monk stumbling towards him. "Please... Oh great Saradomin please help me!"

It wasn't every day you saw a monk in such a frenzy; Jahaan's concern peaked, and before he knew it, he was trailing after the monk, who ushered him to follow. "What's going on?"

It didn't take long for them to reach what he was being led to - three bodies, bloodstained and lifeless, cloaked in monk's robes. But this wasn't like any other corpse he'd ever seen. No, these ones had a pool of grey mist floating above them, twisting and turning, weaving and bending in place. And the awful wailing they made… it sent chills down Jahaan's spine. It looked like their souls were detached from their bodies.

"I-It all happened so fast," the monk quavered, "Please protect me. Please! Oh no - what if they come back?!"

"It's okay, I can help you," Jahaan softly reassured, asking, "Try to calm down. Can you tell me your name?"

"Samuel. B-Brother Samuel," the monk introduced, his breathing slightly more collected now. "Someone... m-murdered my brothers. Th-they left me alive. Why didn't they take me and not them?"

Jahaan studied the corpses, his eyes unable to draw away from the tortured souls floating above them. "Something's wrong with them. I've never seen anything like this."

"I-It only happened after their murder, I-I don't think it was the killer that caused it. They just look so tormented, like their souls cannot pass onto the afterlife…"

_The souls will not rise… _Jahaan remembered the haunting words of Gypsy Aris, causing him to visibly shudder.

Not noticing this, a whimpering Brother Samuel continued, "I keep racking my brains, but it's all a blur. Damn my old age - I can't remember anything of the attacker!"

This desperately disheartened Jahaan. "Really, _nothing_?"

"I-I only saw the attacker flee in darkness, like the light had been sucked from the area! But I did not get a good look at them. P-Please, I beg of you... help me search for evidence so we can find who killed my brothers and bring them to justice."

"Of course I'll help you," Jahaan assured. But then, his mind darted back to the last time some out of the blue stranger requested his assistance. Fortunately, he remembered Wahisietel's advice, and with all the conviction he could muster, he declared, "Okay, I'll help you, but on one condition. You have to let me touch your forehead."

Unsurprisingly, this didn't go down too well with the monk. "Come again?"

"I want to touch your forehead."

"But… but why?"

"You don't get to ask questions," Jahaan maintained, standing firm. "It's that or I walk."

"..."

"..."

"O-Okay, fine!" Brother Samuel caved, awkwardly leaning forward. Like it was the most natural thing in the world - despite feeling desperately embarrassed internally - Jahaan reached out and placed two fingers between the man's eyes, sighing with relief when he noted the normal temperature.

"Thank you," Jahaan straightened his shoulders, trying to recollect his dignity and forget that ever happened. "Where should we start?"

Brother Samuel suggested, "I think it would be best to start by searching for clues that point to the killer. You're bound to find something in the surrounding area. Y-you should check th-the... bodies, too. I need a moment to collect my thoughts…"

Brother Samuel walked away, giving Jahaan room enough to examine the crime scene unhindered by the monk's quivering. The poor man looked ghastly. _Perhaps it was his first corpse..._

As Jahaan investigated the first corpse, he noted that the monk had been impaled with several small crystals. His arms were pale, like all the blood had drained from them, and there were scrapes on his knees, as if he was kneeling before being killed.

There was a faint murmuring coming from the floating essence above the body. Leaning in closely, Jahaan could hear the tortured words, "_Bound… shackled… free me... mercy! Oh Saradomin, mercy…"_

Another slaughtered monk had arms that were splattered with blood, but didn't seem to be wounded. Instead, his heart had been pierced by a sharp blade with pinpoint accuracy.

With this soul, Jahaan could only make out the words 'Saradomin' and 'light' amidst the garbled mumbling.

The last corpse had wrists and hands covered in blood, like he was desperately trying to hold his wound closed. There was only one clean wound to his heart - the work of a skilled assassin.

This soul cried out louder than the others, though its words were broken up by agonised wails. "_It was… the masked face… trapped me… release me, Saradomin…"_

Masked face? This did not bring joy to Jahaan's heart; instead, a weighted sinking feeling engulfed him. Still, he had more of the crime scene to investigate.

The nearby tree caught his eye next, and arrow protruding from the split bark. Pulling it out, Jahaan examined in closely, noting its fine craftsmanship and sharp crystal tip unlike any he'd ever handled before. Then, in his peripheral vision, a shiny silver ring glimmered in the sunlight. When Jahaan picked it up, he saw it was engraved with a dialect he could not decipher, but recognised as elven.

Making his way back to Brother Samuel, who was caught in the middle of hurried prayers, sorrowful eyes staring into the sky, Jahaan called out, "Brother Samuel, I've had a look around. Check this out."

Handing over the ring and arrow, Brother Samuel squinted, examining the two very closely, like he was studying a museum artifact. "Strange. Most peculiar. It could have been an elf who did this, as the ring and arrow seem to be elven craft. I just can't remember - it was all over so quickly…"

"It must be horrible, but try to focus," Jahaan softly encouraged.

"I'm sorry. I have seen much in my many years, but I never thought to stare evil in the face as I have done today. Let me think. My only knowledge of the elves comes from tales and legends I was told as a child. I vaguely remember the tale of their goddess, Seren. She was ridden with guilt, and shattered herself into thousands of crystals to always be with her followers. But she was supposed to believe the different races could live in peace. Why would an elf want to do this to us?"

Jahaan shook his head. "It doesn't make much sense…" he bit his tongue, deliberating internally whether to share the 'masked face' observation with Brother Samuel. _It could have just been a coincidence, a throwaway remark from a tortured soul..._

Tearing up, Brother Samuel exclaimed, "I just want to know why! Why would someone do something so horrific to innocent monks? We're pacifists! And their souls… why can't they leave their bodies? Why can't they be liberated into Saradomin's embrace?"

"_I believe I may be of some help, mortals…"_

The voice came from all around them, and simultaneously nowhere at all. But there was something about the voice that Jahaan recognised, and his heart warmed at the comforting familiarity in amongst all of this horror. "Icthlarin, is that you?"

"_Yes, it is I. Do not be alarmed. My arrival on the surface world is imminent…"_

Brother Samuel didn't seem to calm down, especially since the ground started rumbling.

A crack in the ground appeared beside them, growing rapidly, tearing the earth apart. From it, glorious white light shone from the depths, so bright that Brother Samuel land Jahaan had to cover their eyes. Once the light subsided and the earth had healed, the two uncovered their eyes and saw that Icthlarin had arrived.

The canine deity stood at just under six feet tall, muscled and imposing, with sharp teeth that could cut through steel. Majestic turquoise and golden robes were draped over his shoulders and around his waist, light and infrequent enough to be suited to the desert climate. His shins and wrists were armoured in guards of the same colour, and atop his head was a two-pronged crown that couldn't help but look like large ears. In his left hand was a long staff with what seemed to be a goblet atop; from it, green energy seeped constantly into the air.

With a warm smile, Jahaan cheered, "It's good to see you again, Icthlarin. How's Amascut? Any news?"

Sighing heavily, Icthlarin regretfully informed, "I am afraid my sister's madness has not subsided. She still summons creatures to devour the souls that I strive to protect. But I have not lost hope, my friend. Neither should you."

"Excuse me, who are you?" Brother Samuel piped up, his voice cracking slightly.

Turning to Brother Samuel, Icthlarin addressed, "Forgive my rudeness, mortal. I have yet to properly introduce myself. My name is Icthlarin, God of the Underworld."

Now, Brother Samuel's fear transitioned swiftly into confusion. "Umm… no, not ringing any bells."

"Ic...Icthlarin… I guide souls to the Underworld...? I am part of the Menaphite Pantheon...?"

Brother Samuel shook his head. "No, nothing I'm afraid. Are you a new god or something?"

Icthlarin's embarrassment turned to a mild form of indignation, though he did well to compose himself. "No, I am not a 'new god'. I was on this planet long before your deity!"

"Then how come I've never heard of you?"

"I-!" clenching his first, Icthlarin took a long, deep breath, trying to shuffle off the urge to shout the priest down. "We do not have time for this. World Guardian," he turned to Jahaan. "I had sensed many dead here, souls that passed at the hands of another."

"Yeah, but why are they like… _this?_" Jahaan emphasised, pointing to a tortured soul, struggling to shuffle off its mortal coil.

"That I can shed some light to," the deity informed, "The reaper of souls, whom you know as 'Death', has gone missing. Without his scythe, there is nothing to sever the tie between souls and their physical shells. Their souls are in limbo, shackled to these lifeless husks. I have travelled across all of Gielinor bearing witness to the same thing. I cannot help them all."

Gasping, Brother Samuel cried, "That's awful! Is everyone who dies trapped now?"

"Only on the realm of Gielinor. Other realms are not governed by the same principles of mortality. Death does have fail safes in place, helpers that are able to use shards from his scythe to release souls, but they are unable to keep pace with the flow of souls. I am assisting by transporting the deceased to them. But I am tired, mortal - there is much that needs my attention. I have never known Death to neglect his duties - not once in thousands of years. There is something more sinister afoot."

"Then we need to find Death," Jahaan asserted. With a heavy sigh, he decided to confess his suspicions to the jackal-headed deity. "I've an idea as to who might be behind these killings and, by extent, Death's disappearance."

"Who, my friend?"

Jahaan's shoulders sagged; wincing, he said, "I believe you're familiar with the Mahjarrat Sliske?"

"Sliske…" Icthlarin shuddered at the name. "I am all-too familiar with that particular rapscallion. This business of torturing souls does seem to fit his modus operandi."

"That, and one of the trapped souls mentioned a 'masked face'. Brother Samuel also said something about the attacker's way of teleporting, where the spell absorbed light instead of emitting it, like the spellcaster-"

"...was escaping to a darker rift or dimension," Icthlarin finished, his heart heavy.

"Pardon me," Brother Samuel cleared his throat. "Who is this Sliske character?"

"Sliske is a Zarosian Mahjarrat," Icthlarin solemnly explained, "He and I have a tumultuous history. Once he fought with his brethren in my armies. Then, he betrayed me and turned the Mahjarrat's allegiance to Zaros. I wonder if he is trying to garner my attention by taking Death captive?"

"If it is indeed Sliske, then it looks like he's trying to pit the gods against one another," Jahaan gravely added. "Seems like Sliske's trying to make it look like elves butchered these Saradominist monks. The crystal tip arrows are a dead giveaway to Seren's followers."

"As I pointed out earlier," Brother Samuel piped up, "Seren and Saradomin have always had a peaceful relationship. There would be no reason for her followers to perform such a heinous act."

"I agree," Icthlarin concurred, gripping tighter onto his powerful staff. "Something eludes us still. But what is clear is that he is setting in motion dangerous events, and we cannot let him continue. I would like to ask for your help, Jahaan. You have seen the evil at work here, and have first-hand experience in dealing with Sliske."

Humbly, Jahaan replied, "Of course. I'll do whatever I can."

"Thank you, my friend. Our highest priority is- wait... something is wrong."

Icthlarin sniffed the air, his body going tense and rigid. "Prepare yourself, Jahaan. I sense the approach of the undead."

Beneath them, the ground began to shiver and shake, eventually breaking away all together as six skeletons with flesh barely clutching onto their limbs arose from the dirt.

Drawing his two short swords, Jahaan crouched into a fighting stance. Beside him, Icthlarin's staff glowed as he did the same. He made a motion with his hand, and then seemed very perplexed afterwards. Meanwhile, Brother Samuel cowered behind them.

Fortunately, the skeletons were just as brittle as they looked; Jahaan charged forward and slashed straight through the torso of one without breaking a sweat. Icthlarin's staff made short work of another two, while Jahaan took out one with a decapitating strike.

The last two were felled with ease, and from the remains of one of them, a tiny box materialised.

Sheathing his weapon, a curious Jahaan picked up the box from in amongst the pile of bones. "Huh…" was all he said. It didn't seem to have a keyhole, and when he tried to prise the lid open, it wouldn't budge.

"Well fought, mortal," Icthlarin praised, his staff returning to its regular state. "I am not accustomed to the undead withstanding my power."

"Why _did _they withstand it?"

"Ordinarily I would dispatch tens of wights with a wave of my hand, but these… it seemed almost as though they were attuned to my power. Like something was protecting them," his eye then caught the box Jahaan was holding. "What is that in your hand?"

As soon as he said that, murky grey smoke began to seep from the mysterious box, and in his shock, Jahaan dropped the box to the ground, stepping back in surprise. "Is it meant to do that?"

Gradually, the smoke began to take the shape of a mask, a typical theatre style accessory with a menacing grin plastered onto it. "Boo! Bet you didn't see this coming."

Icthlarin regarded to mask with apprehension. "What in the Underworld are you, creature?"

"For starters, I am no creature. I'm just a little message - or, rather, an invitation - from my master. You have the honour of being invited to the greatest event in all six ages!"

"Speak clearly, mask," Icthlarin demanded. "Who is your master? What event do you speak of?"

"Why, the grand ascension of Sliske, of course!" the mask exclaimed, his voice full of wicked laughter.

Jahaan crinkled his brow. "Sliske's ascension?"

Icthlarin's shoulders sagged. "In light of recent events, the bastard must now believe he is worthy of godhood. But the treacherous snake must be mad to think I'd respond to such an invitation…" the words caught in his throat like bile.

The Mask sighed. "Poor Icthlarin. So easily frustrated by a talking box. My master believed you might react this way, but in light of a certain someone's disappearance, we thought you might be amenable to accepting our invitation..."

Icthlarin's eyes grew wide. "You would have the audacity to kidnap Death himself?!"

"Calm down Icky. All you need to do to save your precious Death is open this box, and you will be transported to the Empyrean Citadel. Oh, and bring the World Guardian with you. I have a feeling he won't want to miss this either. Now, come along. My master won't wait forever…"

With that, the smoke dissipated, and the box returned to its mundane appearance.

"The situation is apparent now," Icthlarin's tone was grave. "Sliske's plan is as evil and manipulative as I have come to expect from him. With Death gone, Sliske knew I would come to the surface world to deal with the trapped souls. After killing the people you see here, he predicted my arrival and left his wights to ambush me. But they were just a show of his power. The real purpose was to deliver his invitation. Kidnapping Death leaves me no choice but to attend his ascension."

Jahaan added, "I bet he's hatching similar schemes to force the other gods into attendance."

"Then the situation is more dire than I first believed. To what end, I do not know. But I must go to the Citadel and release Death. Still, I cannot bring myself to trust this box."

"If there's one thing you can trust, it's that you can't trust Sliske," Jahaan parroted Wahisietel's wise words from the Ritual Site, biting the inside of his cheek.

"E-Excuse me…" Brother Samuel meekly raised his hand, hunched over slightly. "B-But if you do not get Death to return, does that mean my brothers will never be free?"

"Your brothers will be free," Icthlarin assured. "I will transport them to Death's Mansion myself. Death's helpers are there. They will release the trapped souls from their bodies. However, if we do not find and release Death from his captor, things will never go back to normal."

With a wave of his arm, and a low bow of his head, Icthlarin caused the bodies faded away.

Straightening his stance, Icthlarin declared. "I must go to the Citadel. It appears Sliske requests your company as well. Will you attend alongside me, World Guardian? I need an ally, and am not sure who, or what, I shall encounter upon my arrival."

Jahaan's stern expression allowed a wry smile to creep through. "For you? Wouldn't miss it."

Picking up the box again, Jahaan and Icthlarin took a good few strides away from Brother Samuel - just in case he was caught in the teleportation spell due to his close proximity - and this time, Jahaan managed to open the lid. Light attacked them, rendering their vision blank and white, but they could feel movement. Unsteady, directionless movement, but movement nonetheless.

When Jahaan managed to open his eyes, he was inside the Empyrean Citadel.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	18. Quest 05: Missing, Presumed Death (Ch2)

**Quest 05: Missing, Presumed Death**

**Chapter 2 - Empyrean Citadel**

_Sliske invites all of Gielinor's returned gods to his 'grand ascendency', claiming godhood. Instead, he uses the platform to pit all the gods against one another in a free-for-all that threatens to tear Gielinor apart. Their incentive? The sole survivor will be awarded what every deity is desperate for - the Stone of Jas..._

* * *

K'ril Tsutsaroth, the demon servant of Zamorak, stood behind two of the Zamorakian Mahjarrat, Enakhra and Zemouregal. To their left, two uncomfortable avianse glared at the intruders to their citadel - after all, the Empyrean Citadel was once Armadyl's seat of power on Gielinor. On the other side of the room, General Graardor looked irritated at the whole affair and one wrong glance away from crushing some skulls. Meanwhile, Commander Zilyana and the elf Ilfeen were locked in a tense argument. Guarding the entrance to the throne room were the six Barrows Brothers, unmoving and unblinking.

"This place is a powder keg…" Jahaan muttered to Icthlarin, taking note of just how many people here wished to see his head roll.

Nodding, Icthlarin stated, "We mustn't waste time. Let us enter the throne room."

Jahaan started to follow him, but then saw two figures out of the corner of his eye, loitering at the far end of the room. "Ah, actually, I have to deal with something first. I'll meet you in there."

Accepting this, Icthlarin approached one of the Brothers. Registering him, the six of them stepped aside, and the large throne room doors creaked upon, allowing Icthlarin passage.

Zemouregal seemed to take umbrage to this. "Now Icthlarin's allowed in?! I've had enough of this - get out of my way!"

Zemouregal attempted to force his way past Guthan, but as soon as he took a forceful stride forwards, he was thrown halfway across the room. Not by Guthan, mind you. More like he was repelled by the shadows themselves, an energy force field that created a solid wall of 'fuck you'.

A strange laugh echoed across the chamber. "_HAHA! Access: DENIED!"_

Picking himself off the floor, embarrassed and seething, Zemouregal shouted, "Enough of this madness! Let me in, Sliske!"

While Jahaan managed to contain his laughter, albeit barely, the rest of the room erupted into a vast range of quaint giggles to roaring, bellowing laughter. If Mahjarrat could blush, Zemouregal would have turned six shades darker by now.

The throne room of the Empyrean Citadel wasn't large in size, but it crammed in enough decadence in such a small space to make up for it. The walls were the purest marble, white and perfect, without a single scratch on them. Cyan Rune ore bordered the marble, bridging between the patterned tiled floors and the edge of the walls, as a skirting board, if you will. A beautifully woven red carpet led from the sturdy elderwood door to the winged black and gold throne, currently vacant. There was no roof, nor glass for the windows, allowing the brilliant clear skies to pour and seep natural light among the occupants of the chamber. Two empty black bird cages flanked the throne.

Floating slightly up from the floor were stone podiums; light alone carved symbols onto the red bases of the hovering structures.

They were the symbols of the gods.

However, only half of the podiums were taken, but they were filled by the most prolific gods in Gielinor.

Saradomin, the God of Order, stood defiantly on his podium, his magnificent white armour glowing in the sunlight. A gold and diamond two tiered crown sat atop his blue-skinned head - the Crown Archival, one of the twelve Elder Artefacts. On his chest plate was printed the symbol of his religion - a four-pointed star.

His white, pupilless eyes pierced daggers through the being stood across the room.

"You claim your acts are not senseless," he was arguing, "and yet you tried to massacre the people of Falador with an undead army!"

_Wow, a LOT had happened after the war..._

"Oh, shut up, Saradomin. My general went rogue. Shit happens. Get over it," Zamorak, the God of Chaos, protested, his crimson pointed wings stretching outwards. He'd clearly recovered from the aftermath of the Battle of Lumbridge - there wasn't a wound to be seen. Divine healing, perhaps?

Saradomin scoffed. "I will not 'get over it'. If you cannot control your own generals, what type of commander are you? I will defend my people from you at all costs."

Armadyl, the avian God of Justice, rounded on Saradomin. His amber feathers faded into red in a calming gradient, fluttering in the breeze. "You speak as if you are a benevolent deity, Saradomin, but the violence you incite reveals your true nature, and your hypocritical ways."

Bandos, the God of War, grunted. His large stature and green skin was covered head to toe in brown stone armour. "You need war, like Bandos. You crave war. You all do."

At this, the imposing doors creaked open, another figure stepped through into the chamber.

Saradomin crinkled his brow, confused. "Icthlarin?"

"Damn, this dog has strayed far from his home," Zamorak commented, a mocking overtone to his words.

"I see Sliske has managed to bend you all to his will too, then," Icthlarin groaned, ignoring Zamorak entirely.

Bandos huffed. "Bandos thought only mightiest of gods invited. Why is little dog here?"

"I am a god, and the recipient of an invitation, same as you. We must be wary of Sliske's plot."

"Know your place, Icthlarin," Saradomin warned, his chest pushed out and his head held high. "You would be a fool to believe yourself wiser than I."

Armadyl rolled his eyes. "At least he doesn't have your arrogance, Saradomin. I, for one, and thankful for the presence of another level head."

Bandos growled, "You are arrogant, bird-man. And you, dog, you have the nerve to think you can warn us? Warn the mighty Bandos?!"

"Take my words as you will. It doesn't change the fact that we all stand here, manipulated by the snake," Icthlarin pointed out, taking his place on the podium with his symbol on it, though it was on the back row, behind the others.

Zamorak sniffed a laugh. "Please. I came because I wanted to. I wasn't going to miss this."

"Understandable. Like Sliske, you are of the Mahjarrat," Icthlarin pointed out. "He knew you would come to watch another of your kind ascend. He just had to ask. It is the rest of us, I'm afraid, that have been manipulated."

Bandos roared a mighty laugh. "You think Bandos manipulated? Amusing little dog. Sliske made promise to Bandos, and promise mean Bandos come."

Armadyl rolled his eyes, muttering, "Ah yes, I wonder what _that _promise was…"

"Hush, bird-man. Sliske promise Bandos you would all be here. Sliske promised Bandos WAR. You will ALL fall!"

Saradomin raised his chin, sticking it out with pride and defiance that his ego commanded. "Ha! Try me. You know what I'm capable of."

"Not capable of seeing through Sliske's deception, though..." Armadyl noted, pointedly.

"Unless my eyes deceive me, I see you stood here the same as me, Armadyl."

"This is my citadel!" Armadyl snapped back. "I will not stand idly by while Sliske intrudes upon the ancient home of my people!"

Zamorak turned his attention to Icthlarin. "And what about you, then? Just happy to receive an invitation, were you?"

"The snake has kidnapped Death. What is the god of the Underworld without Death?"

Zamorak laughed derisively. "Haha! So you've come to save your princess, huh?"

Bandos joined in on the fun. "The dog comes to fetch his bones."

"Enough!" Icthlarin cut through their mocking, sharply. "Sliske will be enjoying this, us turning on one another. Shall we set aside our differences until this madness has come to a conclusion?"

"Icthlarin's right," Armadyl stepped forward. "We've all been summoned here for a reason. Here we stand, the most gods in a single space since The First Age. Let us focus our attention on Sliske, not squabbling like mortals."

_Meanwhile..._

Jahaan had noticed Azzanadra and Wahisietel among the present company and was torn on whether to approach them and potentially face the wrath of Azzanadra. The fact Wahisietel was there did help matters, for Jahaan knew he had an ally in Ali the Wise, but it still took a lot of internal encouragement to put one foot in front of the other.

_Just… water under the bridge… _Jahaan tried to reassure himself, faltering as he caught Azzanadra's eyeline.

Huffing, he concluded that there was 'no time like the present' and stepped close enough to greet them. "Wahisietel. Azzanadra."

"Jahaan," Wahisietel said the name warmly, while Azzanadra echoed it with a hint of bitterness that was ill-concealed.

Wahisietel, obviously irritated by the awkward silence that followed, nudged his Mahjarrat companion, urging a reluctant Azzanadra to speak.

Purple eyes peered down into Jahaan's green ones. "I was disappointed by your actions in Guthix's chamber, Jahaan. I had faith in you. I thought you would trust me over those Guthixians. However... it took some... _convincing…_" his eyes lingered on Wahisietel as he struggled to get the words out. "But I see now why you acted as you did. Zaros has not yet proven himself to you, and the Guthuxians had flooded your mind with their propaganda. I was not pleased, but I forgive you."

He offered a hand out to Jahaan, one large enough to engulf the human's with ease. Nevertheless, a relieved Jahaan took it gladly. "Thanks, Azzanadra. I'm sorry it all had to happen the way it did."

"As am I, but we shall speak no more of it."

More than content with this, Jahaan happily changed the topic. "So, did Sliske invite you?"

"He did not," Azzanadra grumbled. "As fellow Zarosian Mahjarrat, we believed he would welcome us inside."

Wahisietel added, "It would seem only the gods themselves were deemed worthy of invitations. These undead brothers refuse our entry."

Azzanadra gravely remarked, "With such powerful beings gathered here, it is only a matter of time until someone breaks in…"

"...And it will take more than some of Sliske's wights to stop them," Wahisietel finished, scanning the room with a calculated glare.

Something sparked in Jahaan's mind, a forgotten detail Azzanadra had accidentally jogged to the forefront of his memory. "Wait, Sliske's a Zarosian?"

"Ha. '_Was' _might be a more apt term…" Wahisietel grumbled. "He has always been selfish. Now he has the arrogance to claim godhood? I seriously doubt his loyalty to the Empty Lord."

Azzanadra didn't seem to have Wahisietel's conviction, despite his own devotion to the Empty Lord and disdain for those who defy him, something Jahaan knew _first hand_.

Thus, his rebuttal was weak and mumbled. "Sliske has his own methods Wahisietel. We do not know the extent of his loyalty…"

"I do not know why you still desire to trust him, Azzanadra," Wahisietel shook his head, his features a picture of disappointment and worry.

Hiding his fretting well enough, Azzanadra sternly maintained, "We have no way of knowing if he is still loyal to Zaros; Sliske has always played his cards close to his chest."

"Do you believe he has ascended to godhood?" Jahaan inquired.

"It would seem he has completed the steps to become a god," the words didn't come to Azzanadra easily, like he was walking on foreign soil. "But I do not believe that he has truly ascended. Not yet, that is."

Wahisietel was quick to jump in, "What we believe is irrelevant - what we _know _is important. Sliske is not only mischievous, but he is also dangerous," he sniffed a humourless laugh. "I'm not even sure he trusts himself."

"Why, If it isn't the World Guardian!"

The rough, growling voice startled Jahaan; he shot around, seeing Zemouregal was making a b-line straight towards him. Wahisietel and Azzanadra shifted their stances ever so subtly, not wanting to alert the entire room they were preparing themselves for a fight, if Zemouregal instigated one. Enakhra tailed behind him.

Taking that Zemouregal had a good foot on him, towering over Jahaan like he were an infant, it was hard not to be intimidated by the armoured Mahjarrat. After barely scraping by his last encounter with Zemouregal - it was the Mahjarrat's pride and ego that ultimately led to his defeat - Jahaan didn't fancy his chances on a second go-around, especially with Enakhra backing him. Even with Azzanadra and Wahisietel as back-up, if a conflict arose, who's to say General Graardor wouldn't muck in on the action, or Commander Zilyana wouldn't settle an old score from Guthix's chamber?

He knew he had a lot of enemies here, and wanted to antagonise none of them.

_But it was oh-so tempting to rub in Zemouregal's defeat at his hands, right in front of everybody..._

"What are _you _doing here, mortal?" Zemouregal's derisively asked. "Got tired of baking pies or cutting trees, or whatever it is your kind do for fun."

"I could ask you the same question," Wahisietel cut Jahaan's response off before he could say something they all would, inevitably, regret.

"We have come to deal with that _filthy Zarosian _\- Sliske - once and for all," Zemouregal declared, sneering up at Azzanadra, making sure the insult wasn't lost on present company. In return, Azzanadra squared up to him and countered, "I don't see you doing a very job of getting in. Those wights of his a little too formidable for you, Zemouregal?"

Hissing a curse word coarse on Jahaan's mortal ears, Zemouregal sized up to Azzanadra; their noses were practically touching at this point.

"Enough, Zemouregal," Enakhra, surprisingly, was the volunteer 'voice of reason', cautious of the attention they were gathering from the followers of other gods. "There will be time enough for this. There are more pressing matters at hand. _Sliske_," she spat the word like poison. "is claiming ascension? Please. Zamorak walked that path many years ago. He was worthy of the title."

"Sliske isn't half the Mahjarrat our master is," Zemouregal finished, haughtily.

"Which still makes him twice the Mahjarrat you are…" Jahaan couldn't help but mumble under his breath, earning a snicker-turned-cough from Azzanadra. _Oh come on, he walked RIGHT into that one…_

Zemouregal, on the other hand, did not see the funny side. "What was that, human?!"

"Enough!" Enakhra was, once again, the one to ease the icy tension of the room. Nevertheless, her frustration did seem to be catching up to her, her forehead creased like crumbled papyrus. "I can't stand your company any longer. Sliske cannot claim godhood without us having something to say about it," she growled, turning tail and storming off across the citadel hall. Admittedly, it wasn't a large expanse of space, so she looked akin to a sulking child running off to grumble in the corner.

After one pronounced and threatening look to Jahaan, his steely glare reading him a death sentence, Zemouregal parted as well.

Stretching out the kinks in his neck and rolling his aching shoulders, Jahaan remarked, "I don't think Zemouregal's going to take it well when I'm allowed through…"

This caused Wahisietel to pause. "You have an invitation?"

"More like I'm Icthlarin's plus one," Jahaan surmised, figuring Sliske would have likely ascended by the time he explained the whole spiel to them. "Speaking of, I don't think I can delay the inevitable much longer…"

Wahisietel placed a comforting hand on Jahaan's shoulder. "Good luck in there, World Guardian."

Azzanadra placed a large palm on Jahaan's other shoulder, an unusual display of affection for the forbidding Mahjarrat. "You have our support."

_Inside the throne room..._

"...There is no place for your theory of chaos in a peaceful world," Armadyl was stating, assertively. "Only the just will persevere."

Zamorak challenged, "Oh for fuck's sake, Armadyl. All you do is TALK. You never DO. I say less talking, more action."

Bandos roared with laughter, clapping his giant hands together. The force of the shockwaves created could be felt across the room. "Yes, fight! Bandos would enjoy watching you rip pieces off each other!"

Suddenly, a voice echoed around the chamber. "Now now, children, settle down…"

The gods looked amongst themselves, high and low, before a flash of grey smoke revealed Sliske, entering with a theatrical flourish, before standing confidently in front of the throne.

Saradomin clenched his fist. "Do not presume that I won't kill you where you stand, Sliske."

"Indeed," Armadyl concurred, "What if your claims of great power are no more tangible than the smoke that brought you here?"

"I thought you might say that. Well, in as many words..." Sliske rubbed his palms together, his smile spreading into a devilish grin. "So I brought a little surprise for you all. Try not to get too excited!"

With a click of his fingers, the cages beside the throne became bathed in smoke and mist. Once it ebbed away into the nothingness, two figures could be seen inside.

"To my right, the one and only… DEATH!" Sliske announced with a grand wave of his arm. "And to my left, the ferocious dragonkin… Strisath! I know, I know, I impress even myself sometimes. You may hold your applause."

"Pah!" Bandos spat. "What makes you think your new toys will stop Bandos from crushing you?"

Armadyl piped up, "Gods, we could put an end to this lunacy right now."

"Ah ah ah, slow down, everyone," Sliske calmed them, taking a seat on the throne behind him. The act made Armadyl twitch. "Let us think about this. What would happen to your mortal followers if I were to kill Death itself, I wonder?"

"You wouldn't dare!" Icthlarin barked, fire in his eyes.

"Wouldn't I?" Sliske's eyebrows raised in challenge. "Even if that wasn't enough to put you off, how about I release Strisath? His power has been quite formidable lately…"

Saradomin's eyes narrowed. "Someone's been using the Stone of Jas."

Sliske smiled, innocently. "Perhaps. Now, if any of you would like to take the risk, be my guest. Anyone? No? I thought not. Now, where were we?"

"Let Death out of the cage!" Icthlarin demanded, his fury barely containable, and he was barely able to hold himself back, until the creaking of the large door snapped his mind back into sanity.

Jahaan strode through the large doorway into the marble chamber, his eyes briefly clocking and noting down the present gods before his eyes fell upon Sliske.

"Well well, the guest of honour has arrived," Sliske drawled. "You're late."

Icthlarin nodded to him, a small smile of relief breaking up his features. "Welcome, friend."

Bandos, instead, was incredulous. "What is this pathetic human doing here?"

"He is the infamous World Guardian," Sliske explained. "What's the matter, Bandos? Jealous?"

Jahaan held his chin high as he walked further down the red carpet, settling himself between two of the god's podiums, a smile dancing on his lips.

Zamorak scoffed. "And how did _you _get an invitation? Make one in an arts and crafts class?"

"He has more right to be here than you, weakling," Saradomin countered, his eyes flashing with an open challenge. Before Zamorak could accept - which he would have gladly done - Sliske cut in, "Moving on! You are just in time for the main event: my ascension into godhood! Are you all sitting comfortably?"

Zamorak's patience was wearing thin. "Get on with it then, charlatan!"

Sliske could only laugh. "Ooo feisty! 'Charlatan', he says, coming from the usurper and backstabber himself. I'll let it slide - I can see you're all desperate to know what this is about. You see, I happened across a couple of artifacts… of the Elder variety."

Armadyl was quick to vocalize, "The Elder God Artefacts are not mere playthings for your amusement, Sliske. They are incredibly dangerous!"

"Yes, yes. You'd only need to ask a certain deceased god to figure that out. Oh, sorry - too soon? Ah, but I have not only managed to acquire your staff, Armadyl, but also... the Stone of Jas."

"Bullshit!" Zamorak spat. "There is no proof you have the Stone!"

Sliske replied with a coy smirk, "You think I just go around kidnapping dragonkin for fun?"

Said dragonkin, Strisath, barked, "Arg! You will pay for this, False User!"

"Angry little darling, isn't he?" Sliske chuckled, regarding the caged dragonkin with amusement.

Saradomin's eyes narrowed. "You are not worthy of the power the Stone possesses, Sliske. It could be used to remove all the gods from Gielinor, as Guthix once did."

"Then you better be careful, eh Sara?"

Armadyl shook his head. "Need I remind you, Sliske, that as your own power increases, as does the power of the dragonkin. The monstrous creatures obliterated the planet neighbouring my homeworld. The longer you play with fire, Sliske, the longer they will burn you for it."

Jahaan regarded the increasingly rageful dragonkin with trepidation, only taking mild comfort from the fact there were two gods closer to it than he was. Gulping down his fear, he turned back to Sliske and asked, "How did you capture the dragonkin, anyway? And the Staff… how'd you get your hands on it?"

Sliske clapped his hands together with glee. "Now, this really was quite clever of me. See, dragonkin are awfully predictable as a species. It didn't take much for me to lure Strisath into the Shadow Realm. In he came, charging like a big scaly canine, and what does he bring with him? Why, the Staff of Armadyl! I couldn't believe my luck! He was its guard at the time, and I suppose he couldn't leave it unattended when he came after me, but still… a bit daft, wasn't it Strisath? Not only did he trap himself in the Shadow Realm, he brought the Staff straight to me."

"The Staff isn't yours, you scoundrel," Armadyl spat. "The clue is in the title - the Staff belongs to ME."

"Oh, give it a rest, you little bird," Bandos cut in, "You are weak. The Staff should belong to Bandos."

Ignoring the two bickering Gods arguing over his head, Jahaan said, "I helped with this intricate teleportation… thing… to get rid of the Stone. How did _you_ find it?"

"Oh, yes - an ingenious plan of yours, I must say, the way you disposed of the Stone. It took an even more ingenious plan to outplay you there. I wish I could take credit for it, but I had a little help. See, I've been told that the Staff of Armadyl is an extremely versatile tool. With Strisath imprisoned, I used the Staff to reveal his connection to the Stone, guiding me towards it. Annoyingly, it was frozen in ice beneath the Temple of the Lost Ancients. To say it wasn't easy to retrieve it is putting it mildly."

Jahaan was still hung up on this ''little help' Sliske spoke of, but before he could question him, an agitated Icthlarin spoke up, "You brought us here for your ascension. Have you achieved godhood or not?"

"Ahaha! You really believe I brought you here so you could have answers? No, no, no - there will be no ascendancy today. That might have been a little white lie, a ruse to get you all here. It's time for the _real_ announcement: I am holding a contest. A free-for-all, you might say. A battle of the gods!"

Zamorak scoffed and shook his head. "This is ridiculous, even for you, and the bar is LOW."

Saradomin added, "If you think we will be a part of your games, you have truly lost your mind, Sliske."

"You really are no fun at all, are you Saradomin?" Sliske frowned. "It's not so much a game - more survival of the fittest. There is only one rule, you see. It is not long now until our moon - Zanaris - passes the sun, resulting in a total eclipse. Gielinor will be engulfed in shadow. It is at this exact moment the contest will end… and the winner will be the person who has killed the most gods."

Bandos' face morphed into something resembling a grin, one full of bloodlust and anticipation. "Haha! Finally you say something interesting!"

Saradomin cut him down, "Be quiet and let the intellectuals talk, you brute."

Armadyl rounded on Sliske. "Why would any of us listen to you, you madman?"

"Because, Armadyl, there's a prize. One little prize I think you all might be interested in. When the sun is eclipsed and most of you are defeated, to the one that stands victorious I will gift… the Stone of Jas."

Instantly, the gods were in uproar, cursing and speaking over one another in a frenzy.

"This is ludicrous!"

"This will cause an all-out war between the gods, like the ones seen in the Third Age!"

"You're insane, Sliske!"

"Don't believe a word that comes out of this rogue's mouth!"

"Do you have any idea what this will do to the world? To all of us?!" Saradomin exclaimed, his fists clenching in tight balls.

"What's the matter? Scared Bandos will crush you?" Sliske taunted, menacingly. "Maybe you should be more tactical, you know? Pick off the weaker gods first…" he then turned his attention to Jahaan, who had been rather quiet in the foray. "And what about our honourable guest? How do you feel about this, World Guardian?"

With a deep breath and courage he was only half sure he had, given the present company, Jahaan pronounced, "Icthlarin's right. We shouldn't trust a word out of Sliske's mouth. He's just going to deceive us again."

"The mortal is correct," Armadyl declared. "We must not listen to Sliske. We must seek peace through justice."

"Shut your beak, coward," Bandos snarled. "Bandos can smell fear. All of you will fall before the mighty war god Bandos!"

"Even if you have become a god, Sliske, you are merely a fledgling," Saradomin was quick to point out. "You do not have the right to enforce this!"

"Silence!" Sliske cried, rising from the throne with a start. "This petty arguing is becoming irritating. If you won't do it, then I'll kick things off myself…"

Suddenly, Sliske threw a charge of dark energy at Icthlarin, who from the force of the blast was knocked off his podium and to the ground. Before Jahaan could register what was happening, Sliske tossed the key to Death's cage at him and, with a malicious glint in his eyes, unlocked the dragonkin's cage.

"Ta-ta!" Sliske cheered before teleporting away, just as the dragonkin lunged for him.

In a manic fury, Strisath reared onto his hind legs, his dagger-like teeth glinting in the sunlight. With a mighty roar, he inhaled deeply and breathed out a scolding stream of fire at Icthlarin. Fortunately, the demigod managed to stumble to his feet in time and shield himself and Jahaan behind a green barrier of energy.

"Why did he give you the key?!" Icthlarin asked in crazed confusion, struggling under the weight of the dragonkin's fire.

"I don't know!" Jahaan cried in response.

Strisath then turned his attention to the other gods, sending fire around the room without prejudice, causing the gods to teleport away from the dangerous dragonkin.

Just as another fireball was sent his way, Icthlarin urged. "Go and release Death. I don't know how long I can hold this barrier…"

With a firm nod of his head, Jahaan made towards to cage. But without the other gods for distraction, Strisath focused his fire on Jahaan. The young man dove to the ground just as a fireball careered over his head, crumbling the marble pillar it came into contact with. To give him the chance he needed to release Death, Icthlarin threw small, irritating bolts of energy at Strisath, just to hold his focus long enough for Jahaan to unlock the cage containing Death.

When he did, Death and Jahaan hurried back behind the protection of Icthlarin's shield, but the demigod was struggling. "I don't think I can hold it!"

Once the next fireball hit, the shield crumbled and Icthlarin fell to the ground, panting and gasping for air. He looked up at Death, who used a blue ball of energy to bring forth his Scythe and, just as the next fireball was released towards them, he teleported himself, Icthlarin and Jahaan away.

They returned close to the spot Icthlarin and Jahaan had departed from, Brother Samuel close by. He had acquired a shovel, likely from one of the many tool leprechauns tending to nearby farming patches, and had dug three graves to bury the corpses. A few flowers torn from around the area were placed on top of each mound.

When he saw the return of Jahaan, Icthlarin and Death, he hurried over to them.

"You're back!" he exclaimed. "Did you bring this Sliske character to justice? And OH-" he regarded Death with the same look a child gives an ogre. "U-Um, hello? You must be Death."

"Greetings, mortal," Death addressed. "I am sorry for the loss of your brothers. They are safe in my domain now, and shall rest in peace."

"Thank you," Brother Samuel relaxed slightly. "And this Sliske?"

Jahaan regretfully informed, "I'm afraid it wasn't as easy as that. He had many bargaining chips, to put it simply."

"But… but he's a murderer…" Brother Samuel whimpered, his downcast eyes falling upon the graves of his comrades.

It was Icthlarin who put a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder, saying, "Do not fear, mortal. He _will _be brought to justice. You have my word."

There was always a gravitas inside Icthlarin's tone, a voice you could trust with both a promise and a threat, and he spoke both inside his words to Brother Samuel.

"Thank you, Iccy-larin," Brother Samuel attempted; Icthlarin bit his tongue, deciding it wasn't the right moment to correct the man. "And thank you all - I am eternally grateful. But now, I will continue my journey onwards now that I know the souls of my brothers are safe. I must inform their loved ones. Farewell."

After saying their goodbyes, Brother Samuel departed north, carrying the backpacks of his fallen brothers alongside his own.

Death, standing almost two feet above them both, looked down upon Jahaan and Icthlarin and said, "My absence will have consequences. I have to return to my duties; there is an abundance of souls to be reaped. Thank you, my friends. Without you, I may have never escaped."

"Farewell, Harold," Icthlarin waved as Death used his scythe to teleport away.

_Harold?_ Jahaan tried not to chuckle, instead asking, "So what will you do now, Icthlarin?"

"There is much work to be done. I have duties to attend to in the Underworld. However, we must be cautious. Gods will fall in the coming days. The Stone of Jas is too powerful to be ignored. Some may fight, some may go for Sliske, some may employ other tactics. But everyone will want the Stone. We could be facing the start of the next God Wars. Even mortals may try to win the Stone," he put a hand on Jahaan's shoulder, and using that same solid tone he used on Brother Samuel, said, "Make no mistake, my friend. These are grave times, and we all have a part to play. Clearly Sliske has taken an interest in you. As a World Guardian, your choices could decide the fates of the gods themselves. This is the most pivotal event to have occurred for thousands of years. The consequences will shape a new future."

Jahaan let out a shaky breath. "No pressure then."

"I have one last thing to discuss with you before we part ways," Icthlarin said. "When a person's life on Gielinor comes to an end, their soul enters my domain. There, I guide them to the afterlife of the deity they worshipped in life."

"But what about those that are godless?" Jahaan queried. "Where do they go?"

Icthlarin explained, "For those souls, I meet them at the bridge over the River Noumenon, and ask them to decide. They can choose in that moment to cross into the afterlife of a deity they have at least some tangible connection to. Another option is to live on in death, acting as my helpers, to protect souls from The Devourer as I guide them to the afterlife. Otherwise… they cease to be."

Jahaan furrowed his brow, warily asking, "What do you mean, 'cease to be'?"

With a hint of trouble in his eyes, Icthlarin continued, "If a soul does not decide upon a destination, I cannot compel it to an afterlife against its will. The Devourer will claim those souls, their existence erased from the Underworld."

Shaking his head, trying to comprehend this information, Jahaan said, "Okay, but… why are you telling _me _all this? Why now?"

"You aided me in rescuing Death," Icthlarin replied, "In return, I thought I would inform you of this, and tell you that, as of now, you have no set destination in the afterlife. While I do not know when you shall pass - that knowledge only resides with the Reaper - I wanted to allow you the opportunity to contemplate your fate, instead of deciding at the last possible moment, as so many poor souls have to do."

Understanding now, Jahaan smiled warmly and gave the jackal-headed deity a small, humble bow. "Thanks, Icthlarin."

It was hard to tell due to the nature of his features, but Icthlarin appeared to be smiling back before saying, "Now, I have my duties to attend to in the Underworld. I hope we meet again in this life, my friend."

Jahaan watched him go with a sigh. _Now what?_

Readjusting his backpack, making it slightly more comfortable on his shoulders, he just started walking, but west this time.

_Perhaps I will try and walk to Prifddinas,_ he mused, his pace an amble, not a march.

But what Jahaan didn't realise was that, as he ambled on, the world was falling apart behind him.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	19. Quest 05: Missing, Presumed Death (Ch3)

**Quest 05: Missing, Presumed Death**

**Chapter 3 - Bird of Prey**

_Sliske invites all of Gielinor's returned gods to his 'grand ascendency', claiming godhood. Instead, he uses the platform to pit all the gods against one another in a free-for-all that threatens to tear Gielinor apart. Their incentive? The sole survivor will be awarded what every deity is desperate for - the Stone of Jas..._

* * *

God emissaries had taken up residence in some of Gielinor's major cities, preaching to anyone that would listen about why their deity should be worshipped above all else. As one would expect, this didn't go down too well in some places, especially when you had Saradominist followers preaching in Oo'glog (a Bandosian stronghold), or Zamorakians having the nerve to try and preach in Falador, something the Saradominists had outlawed many years ago. So alongside this supposed 'undead army' that came and went, Falador also had an invasion by the black knights to deal with.

Now that the gods had returned, people thought they had the right to excuse despicable, discriminatory behavior, all in the name of religion. The old vampire of Draynor was ousted from his home by a pitchforked mob, accused of being a Zamorakian. In reality, he didn't worship any deity, and any claims of bloodsucking were entirely made up - he loathed the stuff, preferring to drink milk. Saradomin had pretty much laid claim to all human settlements on Gielinor, save for Taverley and Burthorpe, who remained stoutly Guthixian. No-one else preached there - it was still too soon.

The Dark Wizards Tower had come under attack from their Saradominist counterparts. In return, the Saradominist temple on the outskirts of Morytania came under siege. Some of the ogres that settled near Yanille - who had been keeping to themselves for the better part of a decade - crashed through the city's gates one sunrise. Meanwhile, in the Kharidian Desert, the bandits in their encampment had started kicking up more of a ruckus than normal; they were one of the few concentrated pockets of Zarosian followers, _and they decided to let everybody know._

Gods help anyone who tried to preach on Karamja. Those people were set in their ways, and will kindly introduce you to their friend 'poisoned spear' if you dare tell them otherwise.

The peace that had been formed since the end of the God Wars was starting to crumble, and Gielinor was suffering for it.

The worst case of god clashing came in the form of the direct confrontation of two of Gielinor's major deities: Armadyl and Bados.

Armadyl, the avian god of justice, was the patron deity of the aviantese, a race of birdlike creatures from Abbinah, to which he also belonged. Unfortunately, the God Wars destroyed most of the aviantese. Because of this, Armadyl left Gielinor at the end of the wars to roam the cosmos, mourning his lost kin.

The Armadylean holy book was rarely known beyond the avianse or dedicated religious scholars of Gielinor. Much of it was written by Armadyl himself, and split into two testaments - the First, written during his time on Abbinah and Gielinor, and the Latter, compiled after the God Wars - written in the form of a journal - as he travelled from world to world, always searching, never resting.

One of the extracts that showed Armadyl's journey back to his home world of Abbinah is most beloved among the avianse; it is right before their deity returned, reborn, and taking upon the aspect of a phoenix that rose from the ashes…

"_I arrived on this world several sunsets ago. This is a desolate place: the ground is grey dust in all directions; it is cold and light is scarce. I taste the air and know my people could never have survived here. It is a fitting place for me to stay, for a time._

_I walk as I write. My wings trail in the dust, a zigzag record of my time here, and my thoughts turn to legacy. There is nothing of me on Gielinor: my aviansie are dead, my Staff has been lost. In time, they will forget me. There is something reassuring about that._

_A bright light catches my eye, far to the west. I fly to it. It is nothing but a meteorite, smoking in a crater. This world's similarity to the wilderness of Forinthry is inescapable._

_There is no land on this world, just wind, water and waves. Nothing stays still. The chaos of it all deafens me. I hunger for peace, stability, growth; so - upon my arrival - I froze water and made an island. A migrating bird still needs a perch._

_To pass the time, I flew on the crosswinds and tried to forget my troubles. I remembered that my aviansie would fly about me as I soared, playfully mimicking my every move._

_I know now that I cannot - should not - forget… no matter how much I may wish it._

_It seems there is no life on this world. I can see the seeds of life, but not life itself. I feel myself reaching for my Staff, to give those seeds a spark of energy, a push to catalyse their efforts…_

_But it is gone._

_I have wasted enough time here._

_The sky is a boiling mass of noxious gas, and the ground seems to be melting. But - by the Elder Gods - there's life here!_

_I headed southwards, until everything grew colder. I saw what looked like dark stones, fused to the ground. I attempted to move one, and to my surprise it moved itself! These were not stones, but small, shelled creatures. Sharp legs shot out in an attempt to repel me._

_I have taken to studying them. Weather, temperatures and tectonics conspiring against them, but they hold firm, clustered in their shells. They survive and endure, again and again. _

_I must continue my solitary pilgrimage._

_The air here is toxic; hard, unrelenting gravity pulls me downwards, and even I must struggle to remain aloft. The world is gas, with no ground to stand on. And yet, this world is a paradise for the beings native to its atmosphere: tiny creatures, the biggest no larger than a wasp or beetle. _

_They circle around me. At first, I thought they wanted to hide in the down of my feathers. But when I turned, they turned. When I stopped, they stopped._

_They were mimicking and playing._

_I feel my old strength - enough to make the journey back to my home. In the hollows of my bones I know that it is time to return, and to shelter my faithful beneath my wings once more."_

It was Bandos who the winged deity clashed with the most.

Bandos was a very powerful, manipulative and bloodthirsty entity, known for taking pleasure in conflict and slaughter. He demanded worship and unquestioned obedience. His followers' main trait is strength, generally at the cost of intelligence, making them valuable warriors who would listen to him blindly. He did not usually care if most of his armies were wiped out - he fought solely for the sake of battle and would enjoy the bloodshed, provided that he retained enough troops to fight for him. But do not let his bulking size and monosyllabic dialect fool you - his cunning and battle prowess is second to none.

There was no such thing as a physical Bandosian holy book; those of intelligence were accused of being defiers of the War God, thus very few of Bandos' followers could read or write. However, tales of Bandos, alongside his preachings, philosophies and beliefs, had been passed down verbally for generations, naturally altering throughout time, as all tales do.

One tale, however, managed to keep quite consistent throughout its history: it was the story of Bandos' reign over Yu'biusk.

The hobgoblins of the Thrasghdak tribe built a statue of Bandos, higher than their tallest building. Bandos loathed the statue, declaring the only craftsmanship he admired was that of fine weaponry. He ordered the statue to be torn down, and said that the craftsman must use their skills and resources to create weapons and armour.

He said if they did this, they would be the greatest tribe of Yu'biusk.

The orks of the Verotark tribe built smaller, more humble statues, all across their city. Seeing this, Bandos pointed to the Thrasghdak, saying how their statue was magnificent, like a second sun… but he said they had torn it down in defiance, had erected secret workshops to craft weapons not for him, but to fight against his righteous rule! He ordered them to gather their tribe for battle, and destroy the Thrasghdak tribe. Men, women, children and the elderly… there was to be no mercy for any of them.

He said if they did this, they would be the greatest tribe of Yu'biusk.

The ogres of the Azkragthog tribe waited until the Verotark returned weak from battle, and obliterated them. They didn't destroy any weapons they came across - instead, they used them for battle to aid in their conquest. There was no statue, no ballad, no ceremony of worship. This greatly pleased Bandos. He ordered them to build more weapons and use them to conquer the tribes beyond the mountains and beyond the oceans.

He said if they did this, they would be the greatest tribe of Yu'biusk.

To the ourgs of the Goltholglor tribe, Bandos ordered that they stand and fight against the armies of the Azkragthog that were bearing down on their cities. He gave them the same weapons as the Azkragthog - a fighting chance - but instead of defending themselves, the Goltholglor tribe sent diplomats to plead for peace. The wise ones of the Goltholglor tribe said that to go on using the new weapons would be the end to all life in Yu'biusk. Bandos decried them as cowards who wished to corrupt the true followers of Bandos. He decreed that if anyone preached against war, they were to be put to the sword.

He said that the last tribe to survive would be greater tribe in Yu'biusk.

Armadyl's followers had been seen preaching in a camp north of Falador and, for some reason, it was Bandos who took umbrage at this. Then again, Bandos would take umbrage against the sky for any rain that fell on him. The camp was located on the merchant's road between Taverley and Falador; Armadyl had very few human followers and no territory on the ground to call him own, so his emissaries had taken to setting themselves up where they could. Now, granted, the camp was a _little _close to the Goblin Village, the largest settlement of goblins in all of Gielinor and, naturally, Bandosian. Then again, it was also in a large expanse of Saradominist territory, and he didn't seem to mind. It's debatable if he even knew, let alone cared.

A terrifying rumble, like the roars of ungodly thunder, shook the area around the encampment, so vicious that it knocked over trees and caused an avalanche on the nearby mountain. From the dark grey skies, Bandos appeared, towering twice as high as the walls of Taverley. He loomed down on the helpless Armadyleans below, a malicious smirk cracking through his dark green features, before he crashed down a giant foot onto them and squashed them into the dirt below, like insects.

Armadyl… did not take too kindly to that. As soon as word reached him, he materialised and - reminiscent to the battle between Zamorak and Saradomin - camps were erected, armies were gathered (with Saradominists aiding the Armadyleans once they heard the news), and the war commenced. This time, divine energy was being gathered to help empower large weapons of mass destruction both sides were constructing.

Despite this, Bandos occasionally took to snatching up a handful of goblins and lobbing them across the battlefield at Armadyl.

Armadyl remained on his perch, his tactics much less crude. At least this time the battle did not take place in the middle of a major human settlement; no evacuations were necessary, taking place in the sizable area north of Falador and east of Taverley. The battle also only lasted six weeks, still with heavy casualties on either side, but like the previous clashing of Saradomin and Zamorak, it ended as suddenly as it began.

The catapult-like weapon Armadyl had been constructing, which he'd dubbed 'The Divine Focus', simmered with barely contained energy. The avianse deity looked oh-so satisfied as he shot a cannonball-sized orb of power across the skies, straight towards an enraged Bandos. He ordered his weapon - far weaker in comparison - to be fired in retaliation, but his armies were too slow.

The orb crashed down, smashing through Bandos' fortifications, scattering his armies… and decapitating the Big High War God. Flying over to the corpse, Armadyl set himself down beside Bandos' remains, a cold and unfeeling look in his thin eyes. He then took Bandos' own mace, very heavy in his grasp, and held it aloft, before driving it down and through the deceased god's skull. His head was crushed and split into fragments, his brain leaking from the remains.

Armadyl did not look happy, but he looked relieved; he'd set out what he'd resolved to do, and that was to remove the threat of Bandos from Gielinor.

With a squawking war-cry to the heavens, Armadyl held the mace aloft and teleported from the battlefield.

From the remains of Bandos' fortifications, some of the soldiers began erecting shrines to their new deity, Armadyl. After all, it was Bandos who taught them that only the weak died, and only the strongest deserved worship.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	20. Quest 05: Missing, Presumed Death (Ch4)

**Quest 05: Missing, Presumed Death**

**Chapter 4 - Love Bites**

_Sliske invites all of Gielinor's returned gods to his 'grand ascendency', claiming godhood. Instead, he uses the platform to pit all the gods against one another in a free-for-all that threatens to tear Gielinor apart. Their incentive? The sole survivor will be awarded what every deity is desperate for - the Stone of Jas..._

* * *

Jahaan stopped off in a small town south of the Tree Gnome Stronghold. The Stronghold was a planned pit-stop of his way to Prifddinas as it wasn't too far off course, and he wanted to visit a couple of old friends from back when he aided in saving their sacred spirit trees from extinction. Secretly, he was hoping they'd glider him all the way to Prifddinas, but their policy of ferrying outsiders was very strict, despite his service to their race.

The town was rather nondescript, leaning towards the dismal side of things; Jahaan didn't even know it's name. At least it had a bank, so Jahaan could gather his weapons, armour and other equipment - things he didn't like being apart from for too long. The armour was like a second skin by now. The locals weren't exactly friendly, and most seemed rather disgruntled to be approached, but after asking around long enough, he gathered there was a pub he could get some dinner at, and just down the pathway was a hostel he could rent a room at. Deciding the room was most important to secure, he opted to go there first, and was relieved when they had just one room spare for that night.

Up the narrow staircase and last door on the left, he was told. Creaking the battered wooden door open, he took in his temporary lodging with a bite of his lip. Well, could be worse.

The room wasn't small, but it clearly hadn't been dusted since before Jahaan had been born. He hoped the changing of the bed linen was more frequent than the routine cleaning. Still, it had a quaint little ornaments cabinet, full of worthless trinkets, and shelves that housed much of the same tat. Someone was trying to go for a 'homey' feel in the heart of this drab town. It sort of worked.

Taking off his armour, he stretched out the creases in his back and shoulders, wishing for there to be a masseuse in the town, though doubtful there would be. He tucked it away inside the oak wardrobe, trying not to dent the fragile wood as he did so, before resting his bow and arrow quiver against the door if it, alongside his two shortswords.

The rune dagger, naturally, he tucked back into the holster in the back of his trousers. It'd become like another limb; wherever he went, he couldn't be apart from it. It provided constant security, something that greatly comforted Jahaan.

First impressions didn't exactly leave Jahaan feeling comfortable in the surroundings. Glancing up at the old-style sign, chipped and scratched all over, he confirmed this was indeed The Red Flag that had been recommended to him, though some of the letters were too faded to make out. As he stepped toward the thick wooden door with dents in it, splintered no doubt from somebody's body or fist, two burly men stumbled out and would have careered straight into him blindly if he hadn't nimbly slipped out of the way. Watching them stroll off, his hand instinctively slid to the back of his trousers where he kept the small blade sheathed. A part of Jahaan considered trying to find somewhere else open at this hour, but the rumbling in his stomach ordered otherwise.

Taking a deep breath, he braced himself and entered the bar.

The place was unbelievably crowded, full to the brim with the local residents avidly spending their time and money at the crucible of the town. The counter was lined with roars of laughter and engrossed, slurred chatter, each customer at least two watered-down drinks to their name. Jahaan could barely hear herself think over the pounding noise. On top of that, sight was strained as the air was musky and thick with pipe smoke.

Suddenly, there was a clatter of glass, followed by a stream of profanities and sounds of a nearby fight. Snapping his head to the left, Jahaan noticed the darts game had quickly changed into a grappling contest involving half a dozen men. Some were trying to pull them apart, others were cheering them on. The rest of the bar casually glanced over at the commotion, then turned back to their drinks, apparently considering this the norm.

Sniffing a silent laugh to himself, Jahaan edged to an unoccupied corner of the bar. Catching the bartender's eye was enough to flag him over.

Three ales and a portion of lukewarm cod and chips later, Jahaan was finally starting to enjoy the place. The clattering had morphed into an almost comfortable white noise, and the beer helped buff up his courage slightly, just in case a brawl broke out in his vicinity.

"You seem to be running a little low there. Like a top up?" the voice came from a man who took up the bar stool next to him. Eyeing him up, Jahaan noted he didn't look as gruff as the other locals. He was slightly better dressed, at least, a black jacket covering up a clean white shirt, buttoned all the way up to the top, save for the button around his collar. He was clean shaven too, his dusty brown hair the most unkempt thing about him. Almost as if he knew this, the man ran a hand through his hair, trying to straighten it out.

Peering into his glass, Jahaan didn't realise it was empty until now. "Sure, I wouldn't say no."

"That's the spirit!" the man turned to the bartender. "Two of whatever my friend is drinking."

After receiving his order, the man slid one glass across to Jahaan and remarked, "I didn't quite catch your name."

Jahaan took a sip of his drink, savouring the bitter ale on his tongue. "It's Jahaan. Yours?"

"Please to meet you, Jahaan," the man held his glass up. "The name's Charles."

Jahaan met the glass with a *clink*, drinking in cheers. "You're not from around here, are you Charles?"

"What gave me away?" the man smirked. "True, I'm just passing through, but I like to think I'm from all over, really. What about you? Where do you call home?"

"I don't, exactly. I guess I'm much the same as you in that respect."

Charles raised his glass in another cheers motion. "Here's to wanderers and travelers. And good ale."

Grinning, Jahaan replied, "I'll drink to that."

Actually, they drank to a whole lot more that evening.

It didn't take long before they moved onto something stronger than the cheap ale they'd been guzzling down beforehand. True, it was a lot more expensive, but it tasted _good_.

And with the more liquor the pair drank, the closer Charles became to Jahaan, and the latter had noticed. It was the occasional hand lingering on his arm, the half-lidded gazes, the extra laughs to his not-all-that-funny-if-he's-being-honest jokes.

This time though, Jahaan wasn't so blinkered. He'd gathered early on that this man wasn't 'Charles', a random well-dressed stranger in a random dive of a bar.

This time, he was going to use the situation to his advantage.

Doing so was easier said than done though. He had to get the man to trust him back, to follow along to his ruse, and that involved returning Charles' unsubtle advances. But it was all rather unfamiliar territory to him. At least, when you compared him with someone like Ozan, who took his nickname of 'the most prolific lover in all of the Kharidian Lands' very seriously, and lived up to it in full. Ariane was the only woman he'd ever stuck around for.

Jahaan, on the other hand, was rather… inexperienced. Inexperienced, as in, _not experienced_.

At all.

He wasn't much of a flirt, and could count on one hand the amount of people he'd kissed in his life. The whole ordeal just wasn't his cup of tea.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was his suspicions. Something pulled him forwards, and so it ended up being Ozan that he channeled when he leaned forward on his stool, tilted his head and formed a coy little smile. A gentle hand brushed the man's fringe from his eyes, and his forehead was warm to the touch. Hot, in fact. Radiating heat.

Jahaan forced himself not to flinch backwards, to swallow his reservations and softly cup Charles' chin.

_If I'm right, it'll be worth it. _

"I think I've had one too many," Jahaan looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, making sure his words were slurred. "I might need some help getting to my lodging …"

The man's smile grew, and he got up from his stool, motioning for Jahaan to lead the way. When he got to his feet, Jahaan legitimately staggered and swayed few steps as the alcohol caught up to him. It didn't take long for him to right himself though, and the pair made their way into the warm night.

The two walked in comfortable silence for most of the short journey, occasionally exchanging glances with one another that said everything that needed to be spoken. When the man linked his fingers with Jahaan's, his breath caught in his throat, but he fought to stay composed and on track.

_Stay focused,_ he reminded himself, stroking his thumb over the man's soft skin. It seemed like the most natural thing to do.

Too natural. Too comfortable.

Jahaan led them up the narrow staircase and through the last door on the left, as he'd been told.

"Nice place you've got here," Charles commented, admiring the view from the scratched window.

Without a whisper or a sound, Jahaan slipped behind Charles. He wrapped one hand around the man's waist and held the thin blade against his neck. Instantly, the man stiffened, tensing his muscles. With a nervous chuckle, he remarked, "So, this is a fancy of yours? A little warning would have been appreciated..."

Before replying, Jahaan tightened his grip around the man and held the dagger a little closer to the thin skin of his jugular, allowing it to bite there. Leaning closer into his ear, he hissed, "I know it's you, _snake…_"

There was a long, uncertain pause.

Jahaan couldn't see his face, but if he could, he would have seen a thin, unnerving smile break out. Relaxing his tensed muscles, he tilted his head to the side, allowing him to peer behind him as much as the blade predicament allowed. "Took you long enough. And here I thought we might get to know each other a little better."

The low pur in Sliske's voice caused Jahaan to shiver, but he remained resolute. However, he couldn't help but be walked backwards as the man pressed against him. "Yes, when you invited me up to your little humble abode, I was rather honoured by the prospect."

Jahaan didn't notice how far he'd been led until his shoulders knocked against the thin wall behind him. He tried to keep focused on the weapon in his hand, on the grip he was maintaining, but the combination of alcohol and _that voice_ caused his head to spin. Therefore, he didn't realise the mistake he'd made until Sliske slipped a hand beside his own, between the blade and his neck, and slammed it outwards, crashing the protruding bone into the sharp edge of the cabinet next to them. Howling in agony, Jahaan clutched his throbbing wrist, the dagger clattering to the floor, a secondary thought. Suddenly, he was pinned to the wall with a vice-like claw around his throat, choking the life out of him. Regardless of the body's shape and appearance, Jahaan was undoubtedly looking into the haunting, familiar eyes of Sliske. The Mahjarrat's eyes lifted in warning, a cold predatory glare accompanying his cruel tone. "Really Jahaan, if you're going to slit my throat, at least have the courtesy to look me in the eyes as you do so."

The grip around his throat tightened, causing any hope of a retort to emit itself as a strangled gurgle or, at best, a hiss of pain. Though he tried, he just didn't have the strength to force Sliske back, and the thrashing of his legs only drew Sliske in closer as the Mahjarrat subdued his struggling with his own body weight. "Was that really the extent of your plan, hm? Or perhaps you considered luring me into your bed and making sure I never awoke?"

Fortunately, Sliske was too preoccupied with his smug rambling to notice Jahaan's left hand stretch out and grab a china ornament from the shelf. Thus, the dull knock to the side of Sliske's head came as rather a surprise. The Mahjarrat went cross-eyed as his brain registered the hit, and Jahaan was released. Desperate to capitalise, he took ahold of the long black hair Sliske had adopted and used it to whirl him face first into the glass cabinet. Shattering glass cried out, smaller fragments embedding themselves in Sliske's stolen face as they mixed into the blood.

Not wasting a moment, Jahaan snapped to the other end of the room and picked his bow off its hanger, readying an arrow and leveling it at Sliske in a blink. While the Mahjarrat was still crumbled over the cabinet, Jahaan tried to steady his breathing from the shallow rasps he'd become used to, wanting to regain the normal flow of oxygen into his lungs. That, and the erratic pulsing of his heart was starting to make him feel sick.

"Turn around slowly," he commanded, lowly, "or I'll shoot."

Sliske's laugh was a grating scrape as he turned around, black blood trickling from his features, a crimson mask.

Jahaan tensed the bow, holding it steady. "Game's over, Sliske. Drop the mask."

Sniffing a laugh, Sliske's expression grew dangerously wicked. "Very well. If you insist."

With a click of his fingers and a slight transition of smoke, the borrowed persona Sliske had adopted changed into the depressingly familiar grey skin and purple robes of his Mahjarrat form.

Jahaan made sure to readjust his aim for the new height of his adversary, "Please, just give me a reason to put this between your eyes."

"Relax, World Guardian," the tone was too friendly for Jahaan's liking - it didn't sit comfortably. "I'm not here to hurt you."

Jahaan sniffed "I find that hard to believe."

"Why would I hurt you?" there was an unfamiliar light in Sliske's glowing yellow iris'. "Darling, my act is dead without you…" he carefully dabbed at the blood on his face with the back of his hand. "So, the chance for civil conversation has past then, I presume?"

"Don't you think we had enough 'chit-chat' at the bar?" Jahaan's tone was dangerously neutral, the hold on his bow steady and firm.

Chuckling hollowly, Sliske stretched out the kinks in his shoulders. "Congratulations for catching me off-guard. That's not an easy thing for someone to do."

"You're not as good an actor as you think you are," Jahaan spat, more venom in his words than he'd intended. Alcohol had a bad habit of adding kindling to his fiery temper. "So what was _your _plan? Were you really going to go along with all… all this?!"

"You mean, would I have become intimate with you?" Sliske raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Is that so wrong?"

"You disgusting, sick, perverted _bastard_ \- of course it's wrong!" Jahaan was trembling ever so slightly, and he prayed Sliske wouldn't notice.

Tilting his head to one side, Sliske innocently asked, "Why?"

"Because-!" Jahaan began before he ever had a response. "It's… deceiving! That's not your skin!"

Raising his eyebrows, Sliske knew he'd given Jahaan enough rope to hang himself as he replied, "So you'd rather it be my form?"

The heat in Jahaan's cheeks might as well have signed him a mockery death sentence. "That's not… why did you even try?!"

Shrugging, Sliske replied, "I was under the impression you humans love intimacy. Your friend Ozan certainly does. I must say, it is one of the many perks of the human body, one Mahjarrat aren't partial to, unfortunately."

Admittedly, this curiosity caused Jahaan to falter, but he still kept a tense hold in the bowstring. "Wait, what?"

"We don't mate how humans do," Sliske explained, casually, as if there wasn't an arrow targeting the crystal between his eyes. "We aren't built for it. Mahjarrat reproduction is vastly different. How Lucien ever conceived with a human woman still baffles me to this day…"

This conversation was taking a radically unexpected turn, before Jahaan remembered that he was there to kill Sliske, not discuss biology.

"Irrelevant," he asserted. "I don't care if you're disguised as Romeo or Juliet themselves - you stay the FUCK away from my love life."

"And what love life, pray tell?" Sliske taunted, his knowing laugh cutting Jahaan deeply. "Am I so wrong in saying that you've never even been with another person?"

"So what?" Jahaan spat. "That's my business, not yours."

"Oh, but your business _is _my business," Sliske taunted, knowingly, "And remember, I know you better than you know yourself… the colour of your cheeks is an _adorable _shade on you, Janny."

That didn't help matters for Jahaan - he gulped.

Straightening up, Sliske's smile evaporated and his face suddenly darkened. "Now, are you going to kill me, or can I sit down? My face hurts, and I'm sure your arm is getting tired."

Regarding Sliske carefully, Jahaan's throat became heavy. In all honesty, yes, his arm was getting tired, and so was he. Oh gosh, was he tired.

_Whiskey had been a mistake,_ he thought to himself, bitterly. _Always takes it out of me..._

Hesitantly, he began to relax the string, waiting for Sliske's next move. When the Mahjarrat made none, Jahaan edged towards the doorway and, with a nod of his head, motioned for Sliske to take a seat on the edge of the bed. Despite the string being lose, Jahaan refused to let go of the bow completely.

"How did you know it was me, anyway?" Sliske inquired, curiously.

Lightly tapping the space between his eyes, Jahaan replied, "Your brother."

Sliske seemed to understand, smiling with disappointed acceptance. "All good things must come to an end, I suppose. I must say though, your little dance with Ozan back in Seers Village was rather something. I believe you scared the poor man half to death."

Jahaan's eyes widened. "So you WERE there!"

"Indeed I was," Sliske confirmed, smugly. "I had a grand view of the performance. I all but called for an encore."

Jahaan shot him a deadly look. "You're not really giving yourself a reason to live, you know."

"Oh, but you're reason enough!" Sliske cheered, a wry grin cracking into his features, mocking and innocent all at once. "You're the most fun I've had in years, Janny."

Jahaan shot him a glare. "Don't call me Janny."

"Why not? It's endearing."

"Is it? Then perhaps I should go about calling you Sissy?"

Sliske clapped his hands together. "There you go! Now you're getting into the spirit of it."

Rolling his eyes, Jahaan rubbed his temples, really wishing he could lie down before he fell down. "Just… leave, Sliske. I don't want anymore of your games. No shapeshifting to get under my skin. You've had your fun."

Sighing, Sliske replied, "I suppose this little game has run its course, especially now that you've found out how to cheat. Very well, I'll just have to find some other way to entertain myself. Oh, that reminds me…"

Carefully, Sliske removed a sealed and stamped envelope from inside his robe, and held it out to Jahaan, who was in no rush to take it. Groaning, he held it out further and insisted, "It's from Azzy. I told him I'd fetch you. See? Purpose for my visit after all."

Hesitantly, Jahaan snatched it out of the Mahjarrat's grasp and flinched backwards. "What do you mean, 'fetch me'?"

Shrugging, Sliske replied, "How should I know? I'm just the messenger, and you almost shot me for my efforts."

Sliske standing up from the edge of the bed caused Jahaan to falter ever so slightly, and he fumbled for his bow, which only caused Sliske to chuckle. "Is this the effect I have on you?"

The tone he used made Jahaan's skin crawl, but he masked it with a nonchalant hand on his hip. "If you're quite done, I'm tired. We drank half the bar, and I'll bet Mahjarrat don't even get hangovers. So, if you could please fuck off, I'd much appreciate it."

Laughing sharply, Sliske flashed his teeth. "Well, since you put it so politely, I guess I should get going. Directing a war of the gods requires a lot of attention, you know…"

Sliske looked as if he was going to cast a spell, but then he stopped, and looked pointedly at Jahaan. "You know, if you weren't so stubbornly hostile, you and I would make a good team."

Jahaan opened his mouth to respond, but didn't quite know how.

Then, with a cackle that faded away as he did, Sliske vanished from the room in a crack of purple energy.

Letting out a pent up exhale he'd been holding in for gods knew how long, Jahaan noticed he was still shaking, squirmish in his own skin. Scattering his bow and arrow to the floor, Jahaan stumbled over to the bed and collapsed on the top sheet, asleep within seconds of hitting the mattress before he could realise how alone he now felt.

The letter from Azzanadra remained unopened on the duvet beside him until the next morning.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	21. Quest 06: Fate of the Gods (Ch1)

**Quest 06: Fate of the Gods**

**Chapter 1 - Worlds Apart**

The gods have returned to Gielinor, but something is preventing the arrival of Zaros. Jahaan is enlisted by Azzanadra to help bring his god back to their world, a task that would send him into the harshities of the Mahjarrat homeworld: Freneskae…

* * *

Jahaan pried himself off the duvet the next afternoon in a puddle of drool. Not morning, no… he'd long since slept through that. Wiping his face, he tried to blink some of the sleep from his eyes and turn over, attempting to push himself up off the bed and gain a vertical base once more. It was an effort, but eventually he managed to fall onto the edge of the bed and sit upright, the room swaying and swirling before him.

That's when a quick dash to the bathroom was in order.

Splashing his face with the icy cold stream from the tap, Jahaan looked up at himself in the small mirror and laughed humourlessly at his dishevelled reflection. As he tried to straighten out his locks of hair, so too did he attempt to piece together the previous night's antics.

The destruction to the cabinet, alongside the spew of weapons cluttering the carpet, was proof enough that it was no dream. He'd caught Sliske in his disguise, and almost ended him too. For a brief moment, he had the upper hand.

However, with dismal realisation, Jahaan realised that, even with a bow and arrow trained on Sliske's skull, he never had the upper hand.

Not against Sliske.

It was then he saw the letter from Azzanadra on the bed.

It definitely started out as a trudge as he made his way over to the coordinates Azzanadra had left him. Of course, he didn't have a compass himself, and had to make a little pit stop at a small general store, which overcharged him for the pleasure of likely being the only customer that day.

Walking definitely helped his hangover start to ebb away, and before long the arduous slog of a journey turned into quite a nice walk through some unfamiliar, though quite beautiful, forest land. He hardly saw another soul on the entire journey.

A few hours later, the outline of Azzanadra's unique headdress came into view, along with the rest of him, and Jahaan trotted over to the waiting Mahjarrat.

"Azzanadra!" he cheerily greeted. "Sorry for the hold up. Took me a while to find this place…"

Jahaan decided Azzanadra didn't need to know about human hangovers, though he suspected in all his years he'd encountered quite a few inebriated fellows. It was more that he didn't want to talk about it, in case the hangover heard him and maliciously returned for round two. Not exactly a logical train of thought, but he was rolling with it regardless.

"I am glad you could make it, Jahaan," Azzanadra smiled warmly back it him, though his hand was twitching with impatience.

"So what are you doing out here?" Jahaan asked. "You were quite vague in your letter."

"Such things could not be trusted to pen and papyrus, for I am here under direct orders from _Zaros_," he stated with a smirk on his face that soap and water couldn't wash off.

Raising an eyebrow, Jahaan replied, "Alright, but what do you need me for?"

"Rejoice!" Azzanadra cheered, emphasising his words with a loud clap. "The time for Zaros' return is at hand!"

Jahaan gasped. "Zaros is _actually returning?_"

"Yes. Guthix's death was a tragedy, but it has allowed all other gods to return. There is one final obstacle preventing Zaros' arrival, however. Once more, I request your services in the name of my lord. You, and only you, are capable of removing this obstacle. While you may not always have displayed an unerring devotion to Zaros, I need you for this, World Guardian. All disagreements between us are in the past. Any doubts you may have will be answered. Today, we shall truly see if you stand with Zaros, or against him."

_Well, this is a lot to take in, _Jahaan thought to himself with an exaggerated exhale. Scratching the non-existent itch on the back of his neck was an excuse to distract himself from Azzanadra's beady eyes, eyes that demand all, filled with palpable hope that could teeter any moment to rageful disappointment, depending on Jahaan's response.

He did all he could to avoid meeting those eyes.

Zaros hadn't played a major part in Jahaan's life; he was the deity that he knew the least about, all things considered. Sure, he'd read the history books, overwhelmed by a Menaphite bias. He knew all of the Zarosian-Kharidian Wars in the Second Age. He knew about Zaros' empire, and the rise of Zamorak that came from betraying his former master.

He knew overviews, broad opinions, and naturally, the tainted preachings from Azzanadra. He knew nothing about the deity that he could sink his teeth into, nothing he could get behind. Little information about Zaros' beliefs or philosophies had been published. In fact, he was shrouded in so much mystery that many people believed the rumour that he was Bob the Cat, the most famous stray in all of Gielinor.

His dangerous curiosity getting the better of him, Jahaan agreed, "Sure, I'll help if I can."

With a relieved sigh, Azzanadra's smile grew broad and grateful. "Ever since you released me from my prison, I knew there was something different about you. I have had little reason to rely on humans, even fewer to call one friend... but you have proven yourself to me. I have faith that you will prove yourself once more. Not just to me, but to Lord Zaros himself. This will be a glorious day! Zaros awaits you through the World Gate. Will you go and assist him now?"

"Alright, but what's the 'World Gate'?"  
"It is a portal between realms, created by Guthix many millennia ago. While there are many portals that allow for travel from plane to plane, only the World Gate has the power to reach every plane in existence. Though, at present, it can only reach worlds that either Guthix or Zaros visited with it. To reach Zaros by any other means would require more power and time than is available to us."

Jahaan looked all around him, scanning the barren, uninteresting surroundings. "Sooo... where's the World Gate now?"  
"Why, it is right here, hidden in the Shadow Realm, away from prying eyes."

"And how do we get it out of the Shadow Realm?"

There was a solid beat of hesitation from Azzanadra. "We... require the aid of another for this task."

"Who?" there was a churning worry in the pit of Jahaan's stomach. He had a good guess at who, but was praying to whatever gods were listening that he was wrong.

"I think you know all too well," Azzanadra confirmed his suspicions. "I was unsure of this, but Zaros was clear."

Jahaan's heart dropped. "Oh please no…"

Light vanished; darkness slashed. When it all returned to normal, Sliske was standing opposite Azzanadra, sporting a smile that would almost be classed as friendly if it wasn't for the self-satisfied glint in his eyes. With a theatrical gesture, he exclaimed, "Speak of the Mahjarrat, and he shall appear!"

Not having time for Sliske's shit, Jahaan shot back to Azzanadra and stated, "I'm not working with him."

"Oh come now, it'll be fun!" Sliske's honeyed voice dripped through everyone's last nerve like acid. "I told you we'd make a good team."

Begrudgingly, Azzanadra said, "We do not have a choice. Zaros was clear."

His eyes whispered the 'please' that his lips missed, hidden among the explanation, "Sliske is the only one of us capable of drawing the Gate back into the material realm. I am not happy that we need him, but need him we do."

Jahaan looked between Azzanadra and Sliske, realising that the chance of an alternative solution was growing rapidly dimmer. "Fine," he resigned with a heavy sigh. "Let's just get this over with. The sooner it's done-"

"...the sooner you can, what? Go back to your aimless wanderings? Emptily threatening to kill me? Drinking with handsome strangers in bars?" Sliske completed, raising his brows with a patronising glare.

"Just tell me what needs to be doing," Jahaan growled, instinctively taking a step back when Sliske moved towards him.

"Now now, no need to get all bothered. I just need to pull you into the Shadow Realm, is all."

Before Jahaan could protest, Sliske grabbed his shoulder and shrouded the world in a bleak, damp cover. Cold air rattled through his lungs, but it was thick and clogging, and every movement felt like he was underwater. Everything around them had turned a dark shade of grey, shadows manifesting in threatening clouds around the trees. Azzanadra was there too, cloaked in shades. Jahaan went to call out to him, but Sliske stopped him, explaining, "He can't hear you. Not well enough, at least, unless you feel like screaming into his ear. I doubt he'd appreciate that."

Shadows danced around Jahaan's form; he felt them like claws on his back. "No wonder you like this place so much. Come on, let's get the World Gate and get out of here."

Sliske wrung his hands together. "Now, let's not rush into things. I have a proposition for you…"

"Oh, here it comes," Jahaan rolled his eyes. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"What can I say?" Sliske shrugged with a wide grin plastered across his features. "I am who I am. At least I'm consistent."

"Aren't you in a rush to get Zaros back?"

Laughing, Sliske replied, "Zaros has waited for thousands of years. A few more minutes won't kill him."

"You know, I don't see you falling over yourself in worship of him like Azzanadra does," Jahaan pointed out. "What do you _really _think of Zaros?"

Letting out a short, sharp laugh, Sliske replied, "Azzanadra is far too blinkered by fealty for his own good. But of all the gods, I like Zaros most. He just gets me, you know? He helped to make the world my playground. But he's been gone a long time and we're all getting on just fine without him. We don't need him. We don't need any gods."

If Jahaan wasn't mistaken, he detected a hint of urgency in his words, a slightly higher tone that betrayed something layered beneath his usually poised and conceited dialect.

"Oh, but I suppose we do need a sadistic Mahjarrat?" Jahaan countered, hoping to catch the tone again, to confirm his suspicions.

"This isn't about me."

"Isn't it?" Jahaan put his hands on his hips, a knowing smile tearing through Sliske, his body alive with confidence. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you don't want Zaros to return. Is your loyalty that fickle, or are you scared claiming ascension might have some repercussions?"

"Loyalty goes both ways!" Sliske protested. "I see the truth, unlike pious Azzanadra over there. Oh, I still follow orders like a good little Mahjarrat, but I've always taken them more as… _guidelines_. I like to be creative."

"So did Zaros order you to kill Guthix?"

Sliske's hand danced around him. "That was more my... _interpretation_. Zaros wanted to return, but I saw the futility in bargaining with Guthix. I suspect Zaros knew that, but he's not exactly forthcoming."

"And your tournament for the gods?" Jahaan inquired with interrogative undertones.

Sliske's smirk was wicked. "Well, a Mahjarrat needs some fun too, you know. But Zaros wanted a diversion, so I gave him one. While the other gods are busy with their infighting, Zaros can return unchallenged and none will be the wiser."

"So everything you've done has been for Zaros? You ARE still a loyal Zarosian?"

Contemplating this, Sliske replied, "After a fashion."

"But now you're suggesting, what, that I should sabotage Zaros' return?" he shook his head in bafflement. "What game are you playing, Sliske?"

"What can I say?" Sliske's palms were splayed outwards. "I'm complicated."

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Jahaan could feel a headache forming. "Thing is, you don't exactly have a trustworthy reputation. Why should I even hear you out?"

"Because this time, trust or whatever you might think of me isn't a factor," Sliske's smile was tight; that urgent voice was back. "Through that Gate you're on your own. Neither I nor Azzanadra can follow you. Ask Azzanadra if you don't believe me. I'm not fool enough to so openly disobey Zaros's orders. It will be just you and Zaros. You can see for yourself what he's like, and make up your own mind. All I'm suggesting is that you don't have to do what is asked of you. You always have a choice. As World Guardian, even he cannot force you - the decision WILL be yours. If you like Zaros, then by all means help him. But if you're opposed to him, now is your best opportunity to get rid of him for good, or at least weaken him further. The point is that, ultimately, HIS fate is in YOUR hands. And that, to me, is such sweet irony - it's what I live for."

Jahaan looked up into Sliske's eyes, trying to read them, but they were in a language he couldn't decipher. So, he was hesitant to take the snake's words at face value. If they were said by anyone else, he'd admit that they have a valid point, and that keeping an open mind was wise. Sliske had an ulterior motive though, and it pushed him away from rational thinking, into blindly going against anything and everything he said.

Which was stupid.

_That's stupid,_ Jahaan confirmed to himself, the throbbing in his head beating in time to his pulse. _He has a point._

So, aloud, Jahaan agreed, "I'll keep that in mind."

The smile Sliske returned wasn't all that reassuring. "That is all I could ask for. Now, that's enough prattling - let's get this Gate back in the material realm."

Sliske waved his arms outwards, then towards the World Gate; he looked like he was straining ever so slightly, like the look of someone lifting a rather large parcel but not wanting to show the struggle. Soon enough though, Sliske, Jahaan and the World Gate were back in the material realm, out of the clutches of the shadows.

The comparatively warm air of normality flooded back into Jahaan's lungs, and he breathed it in greedily.

However, Jahaan didn't get much time to enjoy before Azzanadra pressed, "What was the delay?"

"Oh, calm down, Azzy," Sliske rolled his eyes. "Zaros isn't going anywhere."

Shooting Sliske a look, Azzanadra ushered Jahaan to one side and whispered, "You were in the Shadow Realm with Sliske for quite some time. I hope he wasn't filling your head with his nonsense."

Understanding it was more of a question than a statement, Jahaan decided to spare Azzanadra Sliske's poison. "Just his usual spiel."

There was a hint of relief on the Mahjarrat's face. Wryly, Azzanadra replied, "That can be damning enough. They don't call him 'serpent tongue' for nothing."

Obviously feeling left out, Sliske jeeringly exclaimed, "Big Boss to Bunny Ears! Big Boss to Bunny Ears! Come in, Bunny Ears!"

Azzanadra shot around to him. "Do not mock my hat! It deserves respect. It is a sign of my devotion, my position in the church."

"A church that ceased to exist along with the Empire. It's about time you faced up to that."

Azzanadra clenched his fists into balls; Jahaan could see the magic quietly pulsing at his fingertips, and prepared to dive out of the way if things escalated. Fortunately, Azzanadra managed to calm himself slightly, and the energy faded away. "One of these days I'm going to melt that smug grin off your face."

Turning his attention to something productive - the World Gate - Azzanadra began altering the dials and coordinates on its surface, symbols written in an ancient language long-since dead and buried, but Azzanadra seemed to decipher it.

"I've taken the liberty of setting the Gate to where you'll be going," he stated, standing back to admire the Gate as it whirred with a comforting hum. It wasn't the largest of doorways; Jahaan would have to bend to get through. If he looked closely at the wavering, pulsing green energy that made up the window to the other worlds, he could make out shapes on the other side. Vague outlines, mind you. Only the bare basics. But it was surreal in its own right, to see into another reality. The feeling gave Jahaan goosebumps.

Azzanadra continued, "Once on the other side, everything is up to you. I am under orders to remain here, and I will ensure Sliske never leaves my sight."

"Why the hostility, Azzy?" Sliske's eyes flashed with… something. "We used to be such good friends, you and I. Back in the good old days in the Empire, back on Freneskae..."

_Freneskae_, the name snapped Jahaan back to the task at hand. "Is that where the World Gate is taking me?"

"Freneskae, yes!" Azzanadra cheered. "It is where all Mahjarrat originate. The untrained eye may call it 'desolate' and 'inhospitable', but a Mahjarrat can see its true beauty."

At this, Sliske scoffed.

Raising a challenging eyebrow, Azzanadra said, "Something you wish to share, Sliske?"

"Freneskae is such a dull place; there's nothing to do there!" he whined. "Just rocks and lava, lava and rocks… so bland, so boring. Not like here - Gielinor is so much more fun!"

Pointedly ignoring Sliske, Azzanadra explained, "Zaros originates on Freneskae too, like the Mahjarrat. He was able to give us such an insight into our tribe, to provide us with the means to rejuvenate ourselves sparingly. You can see why we left Icthlarin for him. He is our progenitor, of sorts."

Sliske rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, he's our '_saviour'_, alright."

"Are you really still hung up on that?"

"Zaros wanting to know our every move? Our every thought? Let's just say I'm not looking forward to having to file reports again."

There was a trace of a smile on Azzanada's face. "As I recall, you always managed to do your own thing regardless."

A thin smile crept into Sliske's lips, and his eyes lightened. "Yes, I suppose I did."

Azzanadra motioned for Jahaan to approach the World Gate, which he did with slight trepidation. "Step through when you are ready, World Guardian. The Empty Lord awaits…"

Bracing himself, Jahaan took one last look back at Azzanadra for reassurance, then one last look at Sliske, who's eyes were fixed upon him, like he was watching an actor on the stage.

"Alright," he exhaled deeply, hands resting on both his swords. "Here goes nothing…"

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	22. Quest 06: Fate of the Gods (Ch2)

**Quest 06: Fate of the Gods**

**Chapter 2 - Freneskae**

The gods have returned to Gielinor, but something is preventing the arrival of Zaros. Jahaan is enlisted by Azzanadra to help bring his god back to their world, a task that would send him into the harshities of the Mahjarrat homeworld: Freneskae…

* * *

Freneskae. A place nightmares are derived from. A hollow, empty plane of existence, where life comes in the form of threat and danger, and where nature actively works against all inhabitants, almost maliciously. Colour is absent; grey rocks protrude into a black sky, looming over an ashen floor. The only vibrant colour comes from the crackling slashes of lightning that tear through the foreboding sky, or the scarlets of lava and fire, hailing from the heavens or slithering across the ground.

As soon as Jahaan reemerged on the other side of the world gate, he tested the air on his tongue, and quickly realised how abhorrent it was compared to the glorious oxygen he'd left behind on Gielinor. Thick and cloggy, a blend of smoke and ash, with a pinch of copper, he gathered the air was at least slightly toxic to his human lungs. Quickly, he took out the cowl from his backpack and fashioned it into a face mask, something that took away the worst effects of Freneskae's atmosphere.

Between coughs, Jahaan called out, "Hello?"

There was no reply, only the continuous rumbling of his surroundings.

"Is anyone there?" he tried again, pressing the cowl to his face. The heat of the lava pools beneath the rocky platform he'd landed on radiated upwards; he didn't know how long he'd last before having to ditch his armour. Figuring that was a last resort, he pressed on ahead, carefully starting along the long and winding path ahead of him, hoping that Zaros was close by.

Suddenly, a lightning bolt struck a protrusion of rock hanging over the pathway, causing large pieces to crumble and fall, the weight of them breaking the apparently fragile pathway in front of Jahaan. Shocked, he fell backwards, clutching onto the ground under him for dear life, watching in horror as his lovely carved pathway suddenly became a lot more difficult to traverse.

Once his heartbeat calmed to a steadier pace, Jahaan clambered to his feet and carefully edged to the gap, peering into the fiery abyss below.

With a heavy heart, Jahaan realised he'd have to jump it. Sizing up the distance between the rock-face was promising - it wasn't all that far - but considering how the pathway just crumbled moments ago, he didn't exactly trust it not to break again under his weight. However, there were no alternate routes.

Gulping, Jahaan walked back a few strides and braced himself.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Jahaan bolted forwards, leaping over the distance and rolling to safety on the other side. Well, the safety was only momentary, for the ground protested at the shockwave of his fall and decided to start dropping chunks down into the lava below. These breakaways quickly chased Jahaan up the pathway, causing him to scramble forwards until he reached the comfort of a larger, thicker platform to collapse on.

Gasping for breath, Jahaan peered behind him and saw the ravine he'd created in his wake.

"No going back now…" he muttered to himself, picking himself up from the ground and soldiering on.

Jahaan didn't know how long he trekked through the natural hazards of Freneskae, directionless and suffering under the heat. He walked on, not exactly knowing where he was going, hoping to stumble into something of note sooner or later, before the temperature took its toll too much.

All the while, he could feel a… presence. Something surrounding him, there but never there. Something watching him, stalking him, but he dismissed it as paranoia in this alien world. Occasionally, he thought he saw it manifest into a faint, flickering purple cloud. But again, he dismissed this as a trick of the light, or an afterglow from the flames surrounding him. But without even knowing it, he allowed it to guide him through Freneskae.

To the east, he saw what looked like a carved cave opening, and that purple light seemed to be guarding it. Jahaan blinked, but there it remained. He looked away and looked back, just to confirm it wasn't a mirage. Still, it did not disappear. He felt it calling him towards the cave, mesmerizing him. There was only a rocky bridge keeping the two of them apart. Without removing his eyes from the purple glow, Jahaan carefully edged his way across the divide and followed the orb inside the cave.

Inside, architecture seemed to have breached the barren, empty world of Freneskae. There were carvings here, patterns painted into marbleized floors. Properly constructed bridges connected each area of the large chamber, with chains for railings, and stairwells that went beyond crude misshapen rocks. From the looks of it, Jahaan deduced it to be a temple of some sort. A sanctum, not unlike the one Azzanadra mentioned he contact Zaros in.

Realising the purple orb was likely Zaros himself, he felt safe enough to call out his name again. "Zaros? Did you lead me here?"

Alas, more silence, save for the swishes of lava Jahaan could hear in the distance behind him. At least this sanctum was cooler, protecting him from the harsh climate outside.

Not wanting to leave anytime soon, Jahaan made his way into the adjoining room, wanting to explore further.

Inside this new vast chamber were four crystalised pillars, shining like diamonds in the dimly lit cavern. However, Jahaan only got to marvel at their beauty for fleeting moments before an ominous hissing sound echoed around the chamber, sending chills down his spine. Gulping, he ventured, "Z-Zaros…?"

The sound did not sound like a god, nor did it sound like anything he'd ever encountered before, a low death-rattle submerged in the sharp, violent hissing of an otherworldly predator.

Fearing the worst, Jahaan drew his swords and tried to calm his breathing as he entered a fighting stance, his eyes darting all around the chamber to try and pinpoint where the first attack would come from.

Haunting eyes glowed from the hollow entrance dead ahead of him, and before he could register what exactly was hungrily staring him down, it charged, spearing Jahaan to the ground. He just about rolled out of the way before it's talons could rip his face off, not even managing to get a good look at the monster before Jahaan scrambled away, wildly swinging his swords in defence. Suddenly, a blast of magic smashed into his back, knocking the wind right out of him as he was thrown forwards, crashing into the marble pillar he'd admired so recently.

A crooked, crimson fist punched through the marble pillar above his head; Jahaan just about managed to duck in time, instinct taking over.

It was only after pushing off the pillar and gaining some distance between him and his attackers did he finally take in what he was up against. These monsters were the stuff of nightmares, like Freneskae embodied. Four of them, twisted and warped variations of the other. One a blood-red horror, contorted horns above its head. Another looked like it was made of ice, only nowhere as fragile. The next, purple with shadows dancing around its essence, its wings tattered and shredded. The last, in contrast, had rather beautiful wings, reminiscent of that of an aviansie.

One similarity linked them all, and it was their striking resemblance to Nex, one of Zaros' most loyal soldiers, and a nihil by origin. Jahaan did not know much of the nihil - such creatures were not native to Gielinor, and Nex was the only one his world had ever encountered, as far as he was aware. He only knew them to be creations of Zaros, abominations forged from the warped life essence of other races. Extremely powerful, deadly pack animals. He'd have to take them on one by one if at all possible.

Shuffling backwards, Jahaan tightened the grip on his swords and braced himself for combat. As soon as he did so, they all disappeared back into the caverns on the wall, quick as a flash.

Wise to their charging tactics by now, Jahaan concocted a strategy. Well, 'strategy' makes it sound well thought out and tactical; this was more of a fleeting idea that Jahaan desperately hoped would work in his favour.

Readying himself, he waited, waited, until finally the crimson nihil charged him again - this one did not seem to favour magic, instead lunging with its dagger-like claws and a shrill scream.

In one fluid motion, Jahaan side-stepped its charge and spun around, the velocity of the twisting motion increasing the power of his sword swipe immensely. Before the nihil could turn or retreat, Jahaan had drawn a large gash down its back, causing it to wail out in agony. His second sword swung lower, aiming for the back of its knees, nearly cutting the limb clean off. The nihil staggered and stumbled forward, its patented charging attack literally cut off at the knees. It lunged forwards again, but buckled under its own weight, unable to cover much ground in the state it was in. With futility, it tried flapping its wings to gain height, but one remained static, while the other waved about weakly; Jahaan figured that he'd cut deep enough into the creatures back to break the wingbone, perhaps damaging the nihil's spine in the process.

Not complaining, he raised his sword aloft to finish the wounded creature with a decapitating strike, but the sudden overwhelming coldness of his palms put pay to that. Dropping the blade with a shriek, Jahaan saw ice crystals splintering from his fingertips, starting to melt. Looking around him, he saw the ice sculpted nihil ready another charge. Shaking off the rest of the ice from his frozen hand, Jahaan swiftly picked up his sword and dashed behind the a marble pillar just as the next blast was fired.

He peered out behind the pillar, only to be met with another charge of ice that cracked his pillar defence.

I can't get close to it, he concluded, dropping his swords and removing his shieldbow from around his shoulders and loading it with an arrow. Just as he stepped backwards to aim, he was startled by a roar to his left, and taken down by a barge from the avianse-looking nihil. Coughing, Jahaan quickly scurried back behind a pillar closer to the end wall, trying to collect himself. Okay, so they all do the charging thing. Right…

Seeing as the centre pathways seemed to be their dedicated charging territory - they ran from one hole in the wall to another opposite - Jahaan dubbed that a 'no-go' zone and focused on ranging from a distance.

The first few arrows were at least on target, but none of them connected with the nihil; its ice attack shattered them before impact. Then, an idea sparked in Jahaan's mind, and he rummaged through his rucksack for a tinderbox.

The flaming arrows definitely gave the nihil pause, and any that connected with its flesh did considerable damage. They seemed to be frightened of the fiery ammunition hurling towards them.

So focused was he on ranging the ice nihil that he didn't notice the crimson one that had crawled up to him until it grabbed onto his leg.

"SON OF A BITCH," he shrieked, startled beyond words, instinctively stabbing the arrow he was about to load into his bow right through the nihil's skull. Gasping for breath, he tried to shake off the vice-like claw that, even in death, the nihil had attached onto him, eventually taking to prising the fingers apart one by one.

After collecting himself, it only took a few more arrows to take down the ice nihil.

Two down, two left. Who's next…

Delicately, he stepped into the 'no-go zone' in the centre of the room in an attempt to lure out one of the nihils. Instead of charging on land this time, however, the avianse made use of its beautiful wings and soared through the sky, causing Jahaan to duck and jump out of the way. The first arrow he fired from the ground didn't come close to hitting its mark, and when he reached for another, he found the quiver empty.

"Shit," he cursed, scanning the other side of the room to see all the arrows scattered out of reach. As too were his swords, which he'd abandoned in favour of his bow. Scurrying out of the way of the nihil's blast of smoke - and instinctively tightening his face mask to protect from its choking effect - Jahaan unsheathed his dagger and tried to come up with a plan.

It's high in the air, and the arrows are right underneath it. I wouldn't stand a chance. Maybe the swords? Ah but how can-wait a second…

Peering out from behind his cover, he noted the grooves on the wall next to the nihil looked like it could provide considerable purchase, if approached in the right way.

Just like Al Kharid, just like with Ozan…

The words repeated in his head in a comforting chorus, and his plan was decided upon.

Without allowing himself another second to talk himself out of it, Jahaan shot out from behind the pillar and dashed across the room, too fast for the charging nihil to register him, and just fast enough to avoid being it by the nihil's smoke attack. It tracked him across the room, and Jahaan his to nimble maneuver in odd patterns to avoid being struck, but he made it to the wall. Leaping in the air, his foot connected with a groove and he ricochet off it, propelling towards the nihil, dagger poised and ready.

With a roar, he buried the dagger deep into the nihil's neck, and the two of them tumbled to the ground. The nihil leaked weird fluid from the wound, but didn't seem quite dead yet, and not wanting to repeat the same mistake he made with the crimson one, Jahaan stabbed the nihil a few more times for good measure until its hissing stopped.

Shaking the gross fluid from the dagger tip with a cringe, Jahaan sheathed the little blade and went to pick up his swords. He reminded himself to thank Ozan for the rooftop parkour training as soon as he got back to Gielinor.

Suddenly, the room darkened; a hollow rattle was all he heard before he was knocked to the floor. Quickly, Jahaan picked himself up and dashed for his swords, positioning himself in the corner of the room, breathless and aching. His vision was greatly impaired now as the light in the room kept dimming in and out, as if darkness had become sentient and was working against him. The shadows had taken over.

This was something Jahaan was all too familiar with.

Clenching the grip on his swords tightly, he tried to strategize on the fly the best way to combat shadow magic.

He drew a blank.

How do you fight an enemy you can't see?

Jahaan was beginning to panic; darkness wasn't something he was overly fond of, especially when he shared the company of a bloodthirsty monster. Panicking did him no good, as in his flurry of rapid breaths and erratic heartbeats, the nihil landed a winding blow on his chest.

Doubling over, Jahaan all but coughed up a lung.

If I can't see it, maybe I can hear it…

To its detriment, the nihil was loud, a constant rattling and hissing from its foul excuse for a mouth. Jahaan could hear it scuttling at the other end of the room, no doubt preparing to strike again, and soon.

Jahaan could only see its shadow in the low light.

So, Jahaan steadied his breathing, tried to drown out his heartbeat, and moved towards the centre of the room. He closed his eyes, sacrificing vision in favour of his other four senses, particularly hearing - a crude variation of echolocation.

The scurrying gave it away, encroaching faster and faster and faster - until it was upon him.

The nihil was fast, dodging the first swipe of Jahaan's sword… but it wasn't fast enough for his second. Jahaan slashed a deep gouge through its midsection, causing the creature to roar in agony. Capitalising, Jahaan lunged forward and buried his other blade through its torso, twisting it inside, before slicing upwards as he removed it. This proved fatal; the nihil was dead before it hit the ground.

Catching his breath, Jahaan laughed breathlessly to himself as he examined the four nihil corpses. That was until he was startled back into sanity by the marble pillars glowing and humming around him. Then, at the other end of the cavern, a small doorway with ancient patterns carved into it opened, the heat of Freneskae flooding inside… and the mysterious purple cloud greeting him outside.

After collecting his arrows and various other pieces of equipment he'd scattered about the chamber, Jahaan headed for the doorway.

When Jahaan emerged through the other side of the door, and had climbed a cliff face immediately blocking his way, he noted he was now at the top of what appeared to be a volcano, where ash fell from the sky like snow. But he couldn't have been prepared for the type of creature that he instantly met with.

It was… humanoid, in a sense. A collection of large rocks tied together through the bonds of molten lava, some which spilled out of its mouth as it breathed.

Breathed… slept, perhaps. It looked almost... peaceful, clawing fingers clenching slightly as if it were in the midst of a dream. It's eyes - eyes that were bigger than the entirety of Jahaan twice over - were closed. That was all that Jahaan could see of it - a large head and one hand resting against the mountain-top, the rest no doubt extending deep into the rocks below.

Jahaan edged closer to inspect, but the purple cloud materialised in front of him. In a deep, echoed voice, it commanded, "Stop!"

Halting in his tracks, Jahaan let out a deep, shuddering breath as he knew exactly who he was face to… purple cloudy thing… to. "Zaros."

"Yes," the orb confirmed.

Feeling the pain in his muscles serve as a sharp reminder, he demanded, "Did you send those nihil after me? I know they're your creations."

"I did not," Zaros assured. "I promise, I led you the safest way possible to reach this volcano."

"That was the SAFEST route? Are you kidding?!" it boggled Jahaan's mind how the Mahjarrat ever survived this place. Not sure where on the purple cloud Zaros' eyes were, he took for looking somewhere near the top as he inquired, "Why have you led me here?"

"It was necessary," Zaros was not an entity of many words, it seemed.

The sleeping figure beside them clenched its fist, its head lulling to one side as it croaked out an inhuman groan. Looking towards it, Jahaan inquired, "What's it doing?"

"She stirs in her sleep," Zaros explained.

"She?" Jahaan choked. "That thing in the crater is a she?"

"She is the elder god, Mah... and her dreams can be violent. We should talk elsewhere. May we?"

Gazing around them, Jahaan didn't exactly know where this 'elsewhere' could be, or how it could be any safer than anywhere else on Freneskae, but he rolled with it. "O~kay…"

Suddenly, the purple orb shot towards him, burying itself in Jahaan's chest. Crying out, Jahaan fell to the ground, and the world became black.

When he… 'woke up'... Jahaan was…

Well, he didn't quite know.

Everything was white.

Everything.

There was nothing around them, no volcano, no sleeping Mah.

Just… emptiness, and the purple orb of Zaros.

"Where are we?"

"Inside your mind," Zaros bluntly replied.

Scrunching his brow, Jahaan asked, "How'd you get inside my mind?"

"Have no fear, World Guardian. I would not enter your mind without consent, nor could I. I have only brought you here. I am outside, looking in. We needed a safe place to talk where she could not sense me. That is all."

"So we're still on the volcano?"

"Yes," Zaros gravely replied, "And when you awaken, we will have to deal with Mah."

Zaros continued, as if he could read Jahaan's mind (which in this place, who knew?), to say, "You have doubts. Know this - I will never lie to you. And in this place you would sense if I did. Therefore, whatever your questions, I would answer them."

Jahaan couldn't shake the terrifying reality of Mah just inches away from where his body had collapsed. "Are you sure we have time for a chat? I can't really defend myself while I'm here."

"Fear not, World Guardian. While we cannot idle here indefinitely, we have time. You have traversed this world for me; the least I can reward you with is knowledge."

Well, that's an offer I can't refuse, Jahaan thought to himself, excitement building alongside his thirst for knowledge. A one-on-one conversation with one of the most powerful deities to ever set foot in Gielinor, and hopefully without this one being assassinated in the process. Where to begin...

The Zarosian religion was quite a mystery to Jahaan; he'd only really encountered it in the fanatical form of Azzanadra. He knew of the Empire, of the Zarosian-Khandrian War… but that was pretty much it. So, he started with the basics. "What's your philosophy?"

"It is my belief that everything that occurs in life - both good and bad - should be used to forge oneself, to better oneself. If we give in to weakness, then we do not deserve the gift of life. Where Guthix sought balance in the world, I seek balance in oneself. One must strive to increase in power, but also in knowledge of how to wield that power. The younger gods have tended to fulfil only one of these things. You, World Guardian, fulfil both of these criteria."

Jahaan felt oddly honoured, but he wasn't about to let vague compliments cloud his judgement. "And what's your plan? What do you strive for?"

Zaros did not falter in his reply, like it had been rehearsed. "First, I must obtain a new body and regain my divine status. With it, I shall return to my ultimate ambition."

A worrisome remark. "...Which is?"

"I intend to claim my birthright and become an elder god. Only then will I be able to stand equal to the universe's creators and speak on behalf of mortals."

Jahaan blinked. Zaros wanted to ascend beyond godhood? For the first time, Jahaan considered what Sliske had been saying about not blindly following Zaros' commands, for he wasn't too sure how he felt about Zaros becoming an ultimate power like that, a top tier god, with all the trimmings that entailed...

Hesitantly, he asked, "Why do you want to become an elder god? Don't you have enough power already?"

"Not everything is about power, World Guardian," Zaros' tone was neutral, but assertive. "Power will mean nothing when the Great Revision is upon us."

Zaros really didn't help the image that he was an ominous being of darkness with casual comments like that. "W-What's the Great Revision?"

"All in due time."

Helpful. "And where are the other elder gods?"

"They are where they have always been since the creation of Gielinor. On Gielinor."

On Gielinor? This was a lot for Jahaan to process.

Taking a deep breath, Jahaan decided to give Zaros a chance. No red flags had flown so far. Well, the whole 'elder god' and 'Great Revision' thing wasn't all that comforting, but even so, he was inclined to trust the deity. For now, at least. He seemed to be honest, in his blunt assertiveness. "Okay, so what do you need me to do?"

Zaros then shapeshifted into the form of Guthix. "The power Guthix bestowed upon you before his death dampens divine magic and energy. It is my belief that this power will also shield my presence from Mah. If she were to sense me and fully awaken, that would have dire consequences... for everyone. Beneath her, at the planet's core, I will be able to create a new corporeal form for myself. I wish for you to take me there, or to go there in my stead."

"Why's it so important that Mah can't sense you?" Jahaan inquired, still trying to wrap his head around it all.

"Mah is my creator," Zaros explained. There was a hint of a sigh in his tone. "Without her I would not exist, but she is like a child. She is an elder god, the youngest of five. Yet the anima of this plane was not sufficient to nourish them all, and Mah was malformed. She was born without memory or knowledge, only instinct. After finally clawing her way to the surface, her first instinct was to pour what little energy she had into the creation of me and my companion. To her I was akin to a child's doll. She is mentally fractured, but I have intellect, and I could not abide her possessiveness. As soon as she started to weaken, I left. She will want me back. If she cannot have that, she will try to destroy me."

Jahaan didn't know how much time had passed since he'd been lost inside his own mind, but it had been long enough. A part of him was prolonging the inevitable, of facing whatever the consequences were for disturbing an elder god. Common sense dictates they would not be pleasant, and the nihil had already exhausted him. "One last thing… tell me about your connection to the Mahjarrat. I've only heard bits and pieces from some of your followers."

"The Mahjarrat did not exist when I left this place, but when I first encountered them I knew instantly that we shared kindred," Zaros explained, taking the form of Wahisietel as he continued, "Their name means 'the children of Mah'. Their crystals mark their divine origin. They were unmistakably relations to myself."

He began to shapeshift and cycle through the forms of Akthanakos, Lucien and Zemouregal as he spoke. "I saw them as sons and sought to protect them. Divine creations are more fragile than you realise. Their race is the epitome of potential, but their fate is also sealed."

Then, Zaros took the form of Icthlarin, a jarring change from the Mahjarrat mould. "Had he known what he was truly dealing with, Icthlarin may never have brought them to Gielinor. He tried to reign in their nature, and it was not long before one of their number broke free. It was easy for me to convince that breakaway of my superiority."

"Who was the breakaway Mahjarrat?" Jahaan inquired.

Zaros took the leering form of Sliske. "Sliske."

Rolling his eyes, Jahaan muttered, "Of course it was Sliske…"

Jahaan recalled the book Wahisietel had given him, about the soldier in the Menaphite Pantheon's service who encountered Sliske in the wars of the Second Age. Icthlarin had stolen Sliske's wights and sent them to the afterlife, something the Mahjarrat did not take too kindly too. The rest, as they say, is history.

Taking the form of Icthlarin again, Zaros continued, "Not all Mahjarrat chose to leave Icthlarin's service, but the few that remained did not last long. In a desperate final act, the desert god Tumeken devastated his own lands to discourage me. I was given pause, and ended my campaign. I realised that I had become what I was fighting against. From that point on, I slowly started to remove my presence from the Empire I had created. I provided the Mahjarrat with the means to rejuvenate themselves on Gielinor - something of which Icthlarin was incapable, for he did not understand them. And I encouraged them to be less wasteful with their rituals. If they were to become leaders in the Empire, they had to endure."

"And what of Sliske?" Jahaan pressed. Despite himself, he had a vested interest by this point.

Again, Zaros took upon the mantle of Sliske. "Sliske's loyalty has only ever been to himself. When our goals align, he can prove useful, but his recent exploits are not something I can condone."

"Do you intend to kill him?"

"I cannot stand as both judge and executioner. I leave it to those he has wronged to bring him to any justice they feel he deserves."

A loaded statement, Jahaan found. "Did you want him to kill Guthix?"

"I did not," Zaros assured.

Jahaan did not sense any hint of dishonesty from Zaros, though he did have every reason to lie. Regardless, Jahaan stated, "I believe you."

"I am glad."

Suddenly, the ground started shaking, causing Jahaan to stumble.

"Enough talk, World Guardian," Zaros' voice remained stoic among the quaking. "Though Mah only stirs in her sleep, her nightmares will manifest and attack on sight, and her cries of pain will cripple you. You need only survive until her terrors subside. Only then will it be safe for us to proceed. But first, you must choose whether or not to allow me in."

Jahaan hesitated. "Come again?"

"If you allow me in, I can lend you my strength to survive Mah's onslaught. I will not go beyond what you permit, and will leave once she is quelled or should you ask it of me. Do not let me in, and I cannot help. You put both our lives in jeopardy, and above that risk the fate of the very universe. Make your choice. We are out of time."

Well, talk about a loaded choice, Jahaan thought to himself, then realised Zaros' could probably hear him. "Okay, go for it."

"Thank you for trusting me," With that, the purple orb shot into Jahaan once more, causing his consciousness to falter. When he opened his eyes, the blasting heat and rocky mountain top of Freneskae greeted him. Picking himself up and dusting himself off, Jahaan secured the cowl tighter around his mouth and nose. He could feel a burdensome energy churning around inside of him, partly tickling, partly aching.

Nope, I'll never get used to that...

"So where are we going?" Jahaan didn't sound all that enthused about traipsing through Freneskae again, but needs must.

"To a place I refer to as the Elder Halls," Zaros' voice echoed inside Jahaan's mind, rattling with purpose. "I require some of Mah's elder energy to be woven into a new corporeal form for me to inhabit. This new body must be a dark simulacrum! A light simulacrum will reject my essence."

"Okay, Elder Halls, dark simulacrum, got it," Jahaan repeated in confirmation. "Lead the way…"

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	23. Quest 06: Fate of the Gods (Ch3)

**Quest 06: Fate of the Gods**

**Chapter 3 - Nightmare at the Cradle**

The gods have returned to Gielinor, but something is preventing the arrival of Zaros. Jahaan is enlisted by Azzanadra to help bring his god back to their world, a task that would send him into the harshities of the Mahjarrat homeworld: Freneskae…

* * *

Seeing as lava was part of Freneskae's decor as much as grey rocks and sleeping elder gods were, Jahaan wasn't surprised when the volcano he was climbing down erupted. He figured it was par for the course at this point. A sort of, 'what more could possibly go wrong?' cavalier attitude. Such a mindset helped him feel slightly less terrified as the red hot lava flowed down the side of the volcano and magma spew out of the top, pouring down in a large stream of fiery death. Jahaan found himself dodging these alongside the random balls of fire that rained from the sky and the vents in the ground that expelled boiling hot steam.

Freneskae was a lovely place.

The rain became rocks, the sky filled with a choking smoky powder and the air warmed quicker than the bonfires of Menaphos Worker District. Almost as soon as lightning had struck a clifftop, Freneskae became illuminated. In the distance, thick gray smoke billowed upwards, shielding the world with a veil of darkness as the smoke swallowed up the whole sky. The glowing embers lept and twirled in a fiery dance, twinkling like stars in the hot swirling air before cascading downwards like gleeful pyrefiends.

It wasn't too far into their journey that a strange, towering creature emerged from behind a rock face, lumbering towards Jahaan with bared teeth and too many arms. Its skin was a putrid yellow colour, a purple shell covered in spikes armouring its back. Claws as long as swords ended each arm; it didn't have legs, but that didn't stop it from moving at a rather daunting pace in his general direction.

Jahaan cowered back, mouth hung agape. "What… is THAT?!"

"That is a manifestation of Mah's nightmares," Zaros explained, his tone too calm for what the situation required. "Just as she dreamed the Mahjarrat into existence, so too her nightmares become sentient, into 'muspah'. They are very dangerous."

"Yes, I can see that!" Jahaan snapped back, drawing his swords and crouching into a fighting stance. When the muspah charged, Jahaan swung his sword in fearsome retaliation, and the blade did indeed hit its target, but it seemed to… pass through? The muspah shrugged it off as if he'd hit it with a daisy. Valiantly, Jahaan tried again, and again, until he had to dive out of the way from a crushing attack from one of its many limbs.

"Your blade will do no good here," Zaros informed, bluntly.

Panting for breath, Jahaan kept up the defensive as he replied, "I should range it?"

"No. It's only weakness is the Ancient Magicks."

This… did not feel Jahaan with glee. "Zaros, I don't even know the regular magicks, let alone the ancient ones!"

"You do not, but I do," Zaros hinted, and soon enough Jahaan pieced two and two together. Sheathing his swords, he shot out a hand towards the muspah and unleashed a fierce battle cry.

...and nothing happened.

Eyes wide, Jahaan was too startled to properly react to the muspah's charge and caught a glancing blow that sent him hurtling to the ground.

Coughing down the Freneskaen air didn't help matters. "I thought that would work!" Jahaan growled, pushing himself to his feet. "Why didn't it work?!"

"Magic is more than just an action," Zaros explained, "It is a feeling. You must believe your motions, otherwise nothing will result. Focus. I have provided you with the power. You must channel it yourself."

Gulping, Jahaan kept as much distance as he could from the muspah as he could while his thoughts raced. Okay, focus. The ancient elements are shadow, smoke, ice and… and blood, that's it! Right, let's try ice. I can do this. I can do this…

Then, from behind him, another muspah spawned, shrieking with the wrath of Mah.

Cursing wildly in every tongue he knew, he desperately fought to focus, to not let panic overcome him.

Just… pretend it's a fire spell, he internally tried to rationalize. Not that I was ever any good at those, but the feeling should be the same…. right?

Jahaan was all but hurled back like a projectile when the first surge of ice magic shot from his palms and careened into the muspah. If the creature's painful roars were anything to go by, he'd hit the mark. Then again, he could have just angered it further.

Jahaan didn't think too much into this before he channeled his next spell. Ice seemed to prove effective, so why fix what isn't broken? The blast shot from his hands in a haphazard, barely controlled fashion, but it caught the creature's leg. The weight of magic was something Jahaan wasn't used to; it weighed more than his sword did by a great deal. Then again, Jahaan reasoned that this was because he hadn't exactly gotten the hang of controlling his attacks yet.

Deadly precision would be nice, but as long as he hit the damn thing, he was content. Focusing on one muspah at a time seemed like a wise strategy, so Jahaan evaded the second's charges as he shot small but powerful ice spells into the first muspah. Gently chipping away at it, Jahaan did not relent until finally - thanks to one admittedly accidental strike to the creature's temple - it fell to the ground.

Feeling the magic pulsing through his veins, Jahaan had never felt so powerful, so alive! He had the power of one of Gielinor's most powerful deities flowing through him, and it was addictive.

Getting slightly cocky, Jahaan decided to mix things up, channeling a blood spell next, which connected with the second muspah's chest. Dodging out of the way of an enraged claw, Jahaan was in the perfect position to follow up. He did so, but miscalculated, well, everything.

Caught in the blast zone, the muspah crumpled under the power of the smoke spell, but Jahaan did too, coughing up a lung as he found himself staring up into the dark Freneskaen skies. His face felt like it was on fire, and when he dared move a hand towards his cheek, he noticed that some of the skin had nearly been scorched off. The cloth around his nose and mouth was no more. Fortunately, his armour had protected the rest of him, only slightly charred from the explosion.

"World Guardian," Zaros called inside his mind.

Jahaan internally groaned, which he didn't even care if Zaros could hear. "Give me a minute."

"World Guardian, we have to keep moving. They will be back in greater numbers."

Peeling himself off the ground, a greater effort than the entirety of the muspah fight, Jahaan reached into his backpack and guzzled down the contents of his waterskin, pausing only to choke now and again. Taking deep breaths just made things worse; he felt his throat tightening at the action, repelling the thick acrid air around him. "I can't do anything if I can't breathe. Hold on a second."

After removing his chestplate, next he took off his shirt, ripping strips out of it. Unfortunately he had nothing to clean the wound on his face, so resorted to just binding it at it was, looking like one of Dr Fenkenstrain's creatures. Another strip he used to cover his mouth and nose, slightly helping the whole breathing situation.

After putting his chestplate back on, Jahaan blinked out the dust from around his eyes and fought past the dizziness in his head. "Alright, where to?"

All the way down to the bottom of the volcano, that was where to.

Luckily, no more muspah were encountered on their travels. In their place were the occasional earthquakes, leaving Jahaan clinging for dear life onto whatever was around him at the time. Landslides and rockfalls blocked their path on no less than three occasions; clambering over them wasn't too difficult, but Jahaan's limbs were already aching just from walking. Cinders and ashes rained down from the sky like violent snow, scorching to the touch. Despite this, Jahaan found himself constantly looking upwards, shielding his face with his arm as best he could so he could look out for incoming lava flows. They were a waiting game - guess what path they were streaming in, pray that you were right, wait for them to pass, then continue.

Freneskae was a lovely place.

Eventually the two of them made it through into the Elder Halls, a large expanse of marble and crystalline rock that looked like it had been untouched for centuries. Glowing wisps of energy were floating around the room, sparkling stars in the dark cavern, all different shapes, colours and sizes. Five tunnels spread out from the centre room.

"There, planted in the ground," Zaros referenced a small stick jutting out of the stone. "That is the Measure. An Elder Artifact used to measure the anima mundi of a place. With it you can bring forth harvestable wisps to weave a divine simulacrum."

Jahaan rubbed his temples. "I understood about twenty percent of that. Just tell me what I need to do in simple, mortal terms, please."

"Take the Measure, plant it in the ground. Faint wisps surrounding will then become harvestable. Guide them together until they join, like atoms. Continue until you have enough to weave a simulacrum. I will know when that is."

"Thank you," Jahaan smiled, thankful for the triumph of simplicity. "Hey, what's in those tunnels?"

"Explore, should you wish," Zaros allowed; Jahaan took him up on the offer, walking through into the closest tunnel. Inside it was a floating fragmented sphere, grey and covered in hexagons.

"What is it?" Jahaan enquired, not quite stupid enough to reach out and touch it.

"It is the egg the elder god Jas hatched from," Zaros explained. "Does it not seem familiar?"

Now that he thought about it, the egg did look hauntingly similar to the Stone itself…

"It can't be the same one, can it?"

"Not exactly. The one you have encountered is unique, altered to become what it is. This one's purpose was quite simple, and was fulfilled."

"So this one is…?"

"Debris," Zaros simply replied. "You will find more in the other chambers."

And he did. A freezing chamber with a fragmented egg covered in ice, belonging to Wen. A boiling chamber with most of the head radiating from the red-hot egg, belonging to Ful. A chamber with dark brown egg and an earthy smell, belonging to Bik.

The last one was a darker chamber. The egg was black on the outside, looking almost smooth except for a spiral running around it. The spiral looked like some sort of corruption. "Is this...?"

"Mah's," Zaros confirmed. "Her's is the energy you must harvest. When you wish to proceed, World Guardian."

Unaware that Zaros was even capable of slight passive aggressiveness was news to Jahaan, but he did feel like the deity was ushering him on now. To be fair, he had been dawdling. Still, there was one more question on his mind, and feeling he was holding enough cards, Jahaan felt bold enough to ask it."

"Why do you want to become an elder god?"

"All in due time," Zaros repeated.

"No, that time is now," Jahaan insisted. "If you want a body, I'm your only shot. All I want is to know who I'm really dealing with. You're inside my mind. You can't lie."

There was a long, drawn out pause, and Jahaan felt like he was playing chicken with a cannon. Nevertheless, he held steady to his resolve.

Eventually, Zaros spoke. "The elder gods create a Perfect World - like Gielinor is, like Freneskae was - and then slumber. Then, when the amount of anima mundi of a universe is sufficient, new elder gods hatch from eggs underneath the current Perfect World and proceed to suck the anima of the universe dry to revive themselves, destroying the universe in the process. Then, the cycle begins again."

Jahaan's chest became heavy with realisation. "The Great Revision…"

"Yes," Zaros gravely confirmed.

"But… but that won't be any time soon, right?"

"I do not know when the elder gods will wake. It could be a millennia. It could be a fortnight. When they do, they will show no mercy."

Shaking his head, Jahaan exclaimed, "There has to be something we can do about it!"

"Ease, World Guardian," Zaros tried to calm. "That is why I wish to become an elder god. I want to stall The Great Revision, to reason with the elder gods. I can only do that if I am their peer."

Shaking his head to try and rattle this supposed logic into place, Jahaan said, "So basically what you're saying is that, when these new elder gods hatch, the universe is going to be destroyed. But if you became an elder god, you could, what, persuade the elder gods not to allow the eggs to hatch? Convince them to hold off? Is that the long and short of it?"

"Yes," Zaros replied. "From the innate knowledge Mah has given me, I know that The Great Revision occurs when, in their eyes, they find that the Perfect World they have created has become corrupted. I will convince them that this universe worth sparing; that, in Gielinor, they have created a Perfect World that should be left to thrive. If I do not interfere, The Great Revision could be upon us at any moment."

"But why didn't they destroy Freneskae?" Jahaan asked.

"That I do not know for sure," Zaros conceded. "Mah was too weak to leave Freneskae. Perhaps they did not destroy this world for, in doing so, they would destroy her too. But we cannot dwell upon the universe's mortality now. We must proceed with the task at hand."

"Right, right, sorry…" Jahaan exhaled deeply, really wishing he had a drink in front of him right about now.

So, as he was instructed, he planted the Measure into the softer spots between the rocks. The Measure didn't seem to have a hard time breaking through. When it did, the faint wisps surrounding Jahaan became less ethereal, and he found he could guide them now.

Thus began a rather tedious process of planting the Measure, gathering a handful of wisps together, moving the Measure, and repeat. Only a few wisps became tangible at a time; the orb he was creating began larger and larger, but Zaros didn't cut him off at any point.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Jahaan asked, "How many more of these do you need?"

"Not many more," Zaros answered, much to Jahaan's relief.

It still took a good ten more minutes of siphoning the energy before Zaros declared, "It is finished. The body is woven. I will depart from your form."

A little more warning would have been nice, Jahaan thought to himself after he picked himself up off the ground, momentarily falling unconscious at the sudden absence of the deity. Beside him was the 'body' he had woven that Zaros had now inhabited. It had a shape akin to a child moulding a person out of clay, round and featureless.

"Now, you must infuse my body with dark energy, creating a dark simulacrum," Zaros stated.

"How do I do that?"

"Directly above us, on the top of the volcano, are crystal shards of dark and light energy embedded into Mah's fingertips," Zaros explained. "You must extract one and insert it into the body."

Jahaan almost felt like collapsing with frustration. "So hold up, you're telling me I have to climb BACK UP that volcano, with all the fun hazards that entails, possibly encounter another hoard of muspah, then pluck a piece of Mah out of her sleeping form without her waking?"

"You have come this far, World Guardian," was all Zaros could say.

Yes, he'd come this far. Jahaan also realised that, without Zaros, he'd probably have to walk back to the World Gate by himself, without Zaros' guidance or protection. He was stuck between a rock, and a much bigger rock, both of which were plentiful on Freneskae.

So, they trekked back up the mountain again, past the lava flows, the landslides, the lightning strikes and every other natural wonder that the weather bestowed upon them.

"How was Freneskae ever a perfect world?" Jahaan muttered to himself as he crawled over a mound of rocks.

Eventually, Jahaan heaved himself over the final ledge and found himself at the top of the volcano, thankful for the lack of muspah this time around.

"Hurry, World Guardian, before her nightmares attack us."

Jahaan didn't need to be persuaded anymore than that. As swiftly yet as quietly as he could, he edged over to Mah's sleeping form. Crystals of shining blue and dark purple protruded from her fingers. Delicately, Jahaan wrapped his hand around the smallest shard of purple that was close to him, plucking it out with his heart in his throat, expecting to be squashed at any moment.

He didn't dare look up at her.

Fortunately, the act didn't seem to have any effect on Mah, and he returned to Zaros with the crystal.

"Perfect, that is exactly what I require," Zaros' monotone voice wasn't great at conveying joy, but Jahaan didn't let it bother him. Holding it closer to Zaros was enough for the crystal to be engulfed into his body.

Then, the transformation begun.

The body grew, larger and darker, until it was an eight foot silhouette of pure black energy. Limbs sprouted and became more defined; purple crystals took the place of claws and shaped his joints. They also took the place of eyes - eight of them, to be exact. Zaros stretched outwards, quickly growing accustomed to his new form. From seemingly nowhere, purple robes faded into existence and automatically donned themself to Zaros, as did his gold-plated armour that fixed into his shoulders and chest. Zaros' eyes receded into the back of his hood, once more becoming the faceless deity he was known for being; an armoured mask filled the void.

But before Jahaan could admire his handiwork, Mah began to stir. Her hands clenched into tight fists, and she dragged her oversized head off the volcano top.

"She is waking," Zaros watched with horror as Mah awoke. His composed and stoic demeanour fell into one of panic. "We have to leave!"

He shot back around to Jahaan. "I need your permission!"

Mah's face was a contorted mess of rocks, lava spewing from her mouth and out of one of her eyes. One side of her face had two eyes, one seemingly filled with lava, while the other had four eyes of random shapes and sizes, glowing brightly with divine energy.

Jahaan was transfixed as she rose from the volcano top and began to blink her way back to the world of the awake.

Mah lifted a hand, held it high above the two of them, darkening their world like an ash cloud.

Her intentions were clear.

"WORLD GUARDIAN, NOW!" Zaros cried as Mah's fist descended.

"YES!" Jahaan managed to call out at the last second, allowing Zaros to teleport the two of them away. The millisecond after they did, Mah's fist struck the ground, denting the rock beneath it. Enraged, Mah raised her head to the sky and roared a terrifying, furious cry, shaking the earth and skies around her with venom and fury.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	24. Quest 06: Fate of the Gods (Ch4)

**Quest 06: Fate of the Gods**

**Chapter 4 - Zarosian Reprise**

The gods have returned to Gielinor, but something is preventing the arrival of Zaros. Jahaan is enlisted by Azzanadra to help bring his god back to their world, a task that would send him into the harshities of the Mahjarrat homeworld: Freneskae…

* * *

When Jahaan materialised back onto firm ground, he was back beside the World Gate, the earthquakes from Mah's nightmares only a faint tremble this far out. Trying to calm his erratic heartbeat, Jahaan doubled over, clutching his knees and panting with all the built up adrenaline.

Zaros, naturally, did not seem phased at all. "Mah awakens," was all he said.

"Yeah," Jahaan replied within gasps. "Shouldn't we be getting out of here?"

"Not yet. We are safe for now, and I have something I wish to say before I return to Gielinor."

Due to Zaros' nature, he didn't walk. Instead, he hovered, a few inches above the ground, his robes grazing the rocks beneath him. He glided slightly closer to Jahaan, towering over the man by a good two feet. Yet, Jahaan was not scared, and Zaros could sense this. It pleased him.

"When I was inside your mind," Zaros began, "I could not lie to you, nor could you to me. I saw Sliske's poison. I wanted to thank you for not letting his corruption influence you."

Internally, Jahaan winced. "Then by that logic, you also knew I'd decided to hear him out."

"I did, as is your right," Zaros confirmed, but there was no hint of anger or disappointment in his monotonous voice. "I did not want to compel your fealty. I wanted to earn your support. While I do not condone Sliske's insidious words, I am grateful you saw through them. You may come to learn something about me, that I… _compel _loyalty within others."

Jahaan crinkled his brow. "Against their will?"

"It is not something I have control of," Zaros explained, calmly. "It is something bestowed upon me by Mah. I am unable to rid myself of this... _ability_... but I must live with it. Do not be concerned - it does not affect you, World Guardian."

Jahaan noted the concern, almost shame, in Zaros' voice. It was hard to gauge the diety's emotions - his voice was hardly expressive - but Jahaan could sense it nonetheless. "But it affects your followers?"

"Yes. It is one of the reasons I chose to withdraw from my own empire," he admitted. "I find the idea of coercing another mind to be... _distasteful_. But it only affects those in my presence, and the effect dissipates with time. This is how I know that those still loyal to me are truly loyal. They have not been under its effects for many centuries, yet still heed my call. I wished for you to know this from me, so that you could understand it. Now you know this of me, might I ask one question of you?"

Jahaan nodded, so Zaros continued, "You could have left me behind, or wounded me with a light simulacrum. I was dependent on you, and you assisted me with little benefit to yourself. Why?"

Jahaan thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Because you were genuine. Honest. Your intentions seem honourable. I might not be waving a banner with your emblem on it, but I don't want to make an enemy out of you either. You convinced me to hear you out. I heard you out. And believe me, I like what you're saying a lot more than some of the other gods prancing around."

"Thank you, World Guardian," Zaros replied, softly. "Come now. I wish to greet my loyal followers."

When Jahaan emerged back through the World Gate, the site of Gielinor filled him with so much glee and relief that he felt like kissing the ground. The sun, the sun! It was near blinding, but he didn't want to look away. And the breeze, the cool wind that danced around him, tickling his skin.

The company surrounding the World Gate had doubled since he'd entered; Azzanadra and Sliske remained, the former as eager to see his lord as a child is for the arrival of Christmas. Next to him, two of Zaros' most formidable followers had joined the Mahjarrat to see Zaros' return, both of whom Jahaan had the unfortunate pleasure of having dalliances with before, back in Guthix's cave. The first, a fire enchantress in the service of Zaros by the name of 'Char'. A dancer, brown-skinned and with hair that undulated like a blanket of fire. The other, a nihil (of which Jahaan had officially had enough of today) by the name of 'Nex', a creature that even the gods fear.

"My lord! You are returned!" Azzanadra exclaimed, sounding like he was about to burst into tears of joy. "You are exactly as I remember."

"We have the World Guardian to thank for that," Zaros commended. "And I shall reward him in due course. But first, something requires my attention. Sliske."

Zaros spun around to face Mahjarrat who was hunched over like a silk-draped vulture. Sliske's smile was thin, his eyes unreadable as he stated, "I am yours to command. Just say the word."

"No more."

Sliske blinked. "What did you say?"

Jahaan took a small step backwards, slightly behind Azzanadra, as Zaros repeated, "No. More."

Sliske cottoned on at this point. "But... no! I... I am loyal! Have I not always been loyal?" to hear Sliske's wavered tone, a cocktail of hurt and disbelief, baffled Jahaan to no end. It also slightly scared him as, the more Sliske spoke, the angrier he became. "Have I not done everything you've always asked of me? As the empire fell, did I not keep safe those things necessary for your return? Was I not pivotal in the liberation of all those who stand before?" he was practically shouting at this point. "Did I not kill a god for you?! You cannot turn me away! Not now, Zaros, please!"

Jahaan couldn't keep his eyes off the seething Mahjarrat. Surely Sliske would have known that something like this would occur. His hesitation to allow Zaros' return was evident enough of that. _But his reaction, so volatile, so desperate, to hear him plead… what was his angle? Was this one of his charades, or was he finally showing some raw, genuine emotion?_

"Sliske, stop," was all Zaros replied.

There was a long, drawn out pause while Sliske locked eyes with the deity. Finally, he broke into laughter. A hollow, mirthless ghost of a laugh. That might have been the most terrifying thing of all.

His light, empty chuckle remained as he said, "Very well. I guess I'm not quite the actor I thought. What gave me away?"

Jahaan was still on edge, confused about the tonal shift. There was something not quite right about the way he spoke, his mannerisms. More so than usual, that is.

There was something not quite right, and Jahaan couldn't put his finger on it.

Zaros did not falter. "You betray yourself... though, in truth, I have never trusted you. And your words of betrayal to the World Guardian cannot be ignored."

"_Betrayal_?" Sliske spat the word like it was poison. "They could have just walked away, left you to rot! I was just convincing them to hear you out. It was down to _you _to convince them of your worth!"

"Whatever your intent, no longer can I turn a blind eye to your disobedience, nor condone your methods."

"Are you sure it's not just because me killing Guthix puts me beyond your control?" Sliske's eyes flashed with fire, a hint of smugness lighting the edges.

Zaros exhaled deeply, providing no comment.

The smugness in Sliske's smile grew, a victory assured. "Fine, don't answer. So, what's next? An intervention? Family counselling? Maybe some trust exercises?"

"Excommunication," Zaros declared, the word reverberating like a gunshot. "You will have no further association with us. You are on your own."

Sliske sniffed a lone, humourless laugh. His smile returned, the curve a little crueler and less self-satisfied. "Oh, I've always been alone. But I guess this means you'll have to find someone else to do your dirty work. Your new World Guardian pet, perhaps?"

"Leave us. Never return," Zaros demanded. Nex and Char looked as if they were fit to burn the forest down with Sliske inside. Azzanadra, for his part, looked just as disappointed as he did furious, the betrayal cutting slightly deeper to him.

"As you command... _my lord_," Sliske mocked with a faint bow. He then turned his attention to Jahaan; meeting the Mahjarrat's fiery gaze made Jahaan want to back away, but he held himself firm. "But don't think this is over, World Guardian. I'm just getting started with you."

He took a step forward. Azzanadra moved to intercept, but Zaros motioned for him to stand down.

Sliske's eyes practically burned with yellow fire, staring Jahaan down like a predator. "Where I'm concerned, Zaros' protection of you no longer applies. Between you and me, all bets are off. Be seeing you."

With that, he teleported away in a flurry of shadows.

Finally, Jahaan released the breath he'd been holding for far too long. To Zaros, he asked, "What did Sliske mean by 'protection'?"

"You are important," Zaros simply replied. "You must be kept safe."

"Well, no offense," Jahaan began, somewhat tetchily, "But a little more protection would have been nice when Sliske had his hands around my throat last night."

Azzanadra blinked. "What was that?"

"When _you _gave him the task of delivering your letter," Jahaan didn't want to make eye contact with the Mahjarrat; he was already regretting mentioning the incident, and the memory was making him angry. "It doesn't matter. Forget I said anything."

Shaking his head with confusion, Azzanadra started, "I do not understand why he-"

"Azzanadra, it's okay," Jahaan interrupted, his tone softer now. "I handled it. It's fine. Alright?"

Sighing, Azzanadra replied, "If you insist. I apologise for bringing him to you. If it's any consolation," he stepped slightly closer to Jahaan, scrunching his face up in a way that Jahaan assumed was his attempt at reassurance, but he didn't have the features for it. "Sliske's mood has always changed like the weather. He is angry now, but I don't believe it will last long. But if he approaches you again, find me. I will deal with him personally."

Smiling weakly, Jahaan said, "Thanks, Azzanadra."

Having listened to the conversation mutely, retaining all but adding nothing, Zaros finally spoke up, "Sliske is an unknown quantity, and a dangerous enemy."

Turning around to face Char, he instructed, "Char, keep an eye on Sliske. It gives me pause that he holds both the Siphon and the Catalyst. I do not want him thinking he can follow in Zamorak's footsteps. He is angry, and may attempt something rash. Inform me if he leads you to the location of either artefact. None of the young gods should have free access to such tools. Especially the Catalyst – the dragonkin cannot grow too strong before we are placed to deal with them."

"As you command," Char bowed slowly, fire dancing on her lips. "I am heartened to see you returned."

After she teleported away, Zaros then turned his attention to Nex. "Nex, I task you with keeping Sliske's little game in check - watch the young gods. Try to contain their destruction as much as possible, but do not get drawn into open conflict. There may come a time that I need you to step in to ensure nothing interferes with my plans."

"At once, my lord," Nex hissed, teleporting away in a myriad of black and purple electric pulses.

Next, his attention returned to Azzanadra. "And to Azzanadra, my most loyal servant. Together we must prepare to rouse the elder gods. Zamorak's desperation at the end of the last God Wars scattered this planet's anima mundi, but even that was not enough to wake them - only Guthix."

Azzanadra hesitated, a brief flash of worry in his eyes. "Y-You wish to create a greater level of destruction?"

"Not greater; more targeted," Zaros assured, echos in his bellowing yet measured voice. "I require you to seek out Gielinor's own Elder Halls. If disturbed, the elder gods will have no choice but to respond."

"It will be done, my lord," Azzanadra vowed, crossing his arms over his chest and whisking himself away.

Finally, Zaros approached Jahaan; silence surrounded the entire landscape, save for the low hum from the World Gate and the brisk breeze fluttering through the trees. "Now has come the time for us to part, World Guardian. Reflect on all you have witnessed this day. Gielinor's reckoning is coming, but there is still time for us to avert it. Until I call on you again, do as you otherwise would, had we not met. _Pax tecum_."

With a nod of his head, Jahaan simply replied, "Farewell."

Zaros left his side, transporting the World Gate away with him, like it was never there at all.

Jahaan was alone once again.

But he wasn't alone for long…

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	25. Quest 06: Fate of the Gods (Ch5)

**Quest 06: Fate of the Gods**

**Chapter 5 - The Nightmare Continues**

The gods have returned to Gielinor, but something is preventing the arrival of Zaros. Jahaan is enlisted by Azzanadra to help bring his god back to their world, a task that would send him into the harshities of the Mahjarrat homeworld: Freneskae…

* * *

The trudge back to his little hostel in the unnamed town really highlighted just how much he'd put his body through on Freneskae, for once the adrenaline had worn off, the aches had made an unwelcome return. Worst of all were the burns on his unprotected face, and Jahaan cursed his unwillingness to wear a cumbersome helmet. They'd scar, undoubtedly, but he needed them treated before they took a turn for the worse.

When the innkeeper saw the state he was in as he fell through the door and all-but slumped against the wall, she didn't think twice before leading him upstairs. Fortunately, his room had not been occupied in his absence. The cabinet was still smashed from his fistfight with the Mahjarrat, but thanks to his _generous donation_ to the hostel's upkeep, the woman didn't breathe a word about it.

After a good, thorough wash and a few coins for use of the medical kit, Jahaan was ready to sleep the night away. And most of the next day away. And part of the next night away.

Unfortunately, his slumber was broken up by his painful bones crying for attention, by the rowdy howling of the drunken s outside his window, and by the most unwelcome of dreams.

_Ika tha nke rius Zanka Tdaterius!_

The words echoed around the dark chasm. He could hear their voices, but couldn't see their faces. They were dark, cloaked in shadow and absent of eyes, of souls.

_Ika tha nke rius Zanka Tdaterius!_

The words echoed again, black skulls shooting into the ground from Lucien's palms. The undead heroes of legend arose, draped in rotten flesh.

Lucien's cackling, his empty skull, his crooked features. It drew them in, like a siren song.

Jahaan found himself crying out, "Hazelmere, stop! He's too powerful!"

Hazelmere did not look back, did not turn, but kept walking, ever so slowly, to his demise.

_Ika tha nke rius Zanka Tdaterius!_

Hazelmere began to shatter into crystals, turquoise and cyan, the colour of his spells. "The decision has been made," his words were faint, "goodbye, my friends."

They were final. His words were his last.

The others followed.

Turael.

Harrallak.

Mazchna.

Lassyai.

"Go, NOW!" Cyrius called, his scream shaking the cavern walls, blue eyes tearing through Jahaan. "We'll hold him off!"

He tried to run. Not away, but towards. Always towards. "I'm not leaving you!"

He couldn't move.

He could never move.

A grip on his shoulder. Ozan.

He tried to pull away, screaming and clawing and begging and pleading.

The world erupted in light, as it always did.

_Ika tha nke rius Zanka Tdaterius!_

The site of Lucien's maniacal glare was the last thing he saw before he woke up, screaming and shaking, a puddle of sweat soaking through his garments.

Panting desperately for breath, he looked around the room, trying to focus on something solid, something real, as he repeated over and over, "He's dead… he's dead… he's dead… they're all dead…"

After another few hours of tossing and turning, Jahaan eventually gave up on bedrest and decided he'd lick his wounds on the walk to the Tree Gnome Stronghold. Besides, he'd been cooped up in the tiny little room for close to twenty four hours now, emerging only for nutrition in the form of a summer pie, before returning to his slumber once more.

Once he decided he couldn't stand the bland walls enclosing him in anymore, Jahaan grabbed his belongings and entered the dusk-soaked town.

However, he didn't get much further past the archery shop and down an isolated side-street before he heard, "Leaving so soon, World Guardian?"

Without hesitation, Jahaan slashed both of his swords from their sheaths, spinning around to face the origin of the silky, sinister voice. As predicted, Sliske was there, the remnants of shadows dissipating from around his ankles.

"Why so hostile, Janny?" His eyes sparkled with amusement, his smile a thin line.

"What do you mean 'why so hostile'?" Jahaan challenged, his teeth gritted, feet firmly planted into the rough dirt sidewalk below. "Does, 'I'm just getting started with you' and 'all bets are off' ring any bells?"

For his part, Sliske looked mildly startled, then he waved his hand in a dismissive notion. "Oh yes, yes, but that was days ago."

At this, Jahaan recalled something Azzanadra had remarked, about Sliske's mood changing like the weather, but he wasn't about to let his guard down and be tricked by Sliske's attempt at sincerity. "Why don't we just cut to the chase: what do you want, Sliske?"

From the way his thin smile turned into a massive grin, Jahaan realised he wasn't going to get out of this that easily. "Now there's a question! What _do _I want? World peace, perhaps? Or... a puppy? Maybe I just want to be left alone."

_If it's the last one, there's many ways you can fuck off that I'd be glad to show you,_ Jahaan internally grumbled to himself, but found that to be the last gasp of his anger, replaced mainly with tired frustration.

Exasperated, Jahaan let his swords drop slightly; with eyes that were world-weariness personified, he looked up Sliske and said, "Why don't for once - just for once - you give me a straight answer?"

Sliske seemed to ponder this. "Hmm… what an interesting proposition. Very well, you get ONE straight answer. Ask your question."

Jahaan blinked. He hadn't considered that Sliske would take him seriously.

Yet Sliske waited, patiently, his mouth upturned slightly as he watched with anticipation the cogs in Jahaan's head turn.

If Sliske was being earnest, there would be a few useful routes to take. Was he really a god? Has he really used the Stone of Jas? What were his plans? The pressure of the options made Jahaan just want to say 'fuck it' and ask something trivial, like what his favourite colour was.

But as he scrolled through these questions in his mind, one kept creeping back to the forefront with increased prominence.

Having decided, he sheathed his swords, testing the waters to see how Sliske would react. When no move was made, he looked back up at Sliske and simply asked, "Why me?"

Furrowing his forehead, Sliske remarked, "You're going to have to be more specific."

Jahaan gesticulated wildly, trying to find the words. "Why… ME? Why am _I_ at the centre of all this?"

Sliske was quiet for a moment, losing the amusement in his voice. "Be careful wasting your one question on something I cannot answer."

"You said you'd give a straight answer!" Jahaan protested.

"I did, and this is as straight an answer as I can give you," Sliske assured, his tone a shade softer than usual. "The truth is, I don't KNOW 'why you'. Sure, I can play my part, pull my strings here and there, but there are things beyond all of our control. Fate has no master, Jahaan. Not you, not me, not Zaros - though he'd certainly try his luck. Perhaps there is a divine and mystical reason why you're at the centre of events. Perhaps you just got lucky, or unlucky, depending on your outlook."

"But why do YOU keep lurking around me?" Jahaan pressed, given a grain and wanting a gallon. "You said you'd been following me, way back at the Ritual… why? Why… why any of this?!"

The humour was back. "Now, now. Don't be greedy. I did just say one. You do like to push your luck... but I suppose that's one of your better qualities."

Jahaan muttered something barely audible under his breath, shooting Sliske a look that required no explanation. _It would have been as much use asking him his favourite colour,_ he grumbled internally.

"So," Sliske began, sizing Jahaan up and down with a flash of his eyebrows. "what's next for you and I?"

"Well that depends, doesn't it," Jahaan found the confidence to size Sliske up right back. "On how out of hand your silly little game gets."

"My game is not 'silly' Jahaan," Sliske's tone was warning. "You'll realise that soon enough."

"Then I'll end it, and if needs must, I'll end _you_."

Sliske's grin grew wicked, full of darkened amusement. "Oooo! I knew there was a reason I liked you! Come at me, World Guardian! Who knows? You might even win."

Sliske took a stride forwards, but this time, Jahaan refused to flinch. The Mahjarrat took this as a challenge, not an invitation; as he stepped closer, he said, "That's enough chit-chit for one day… but before I go, I have a little gift for you."

Jahaan was practically being towered over by Sliske by now. "I don't want anything from you," he stoically stated.

"Don't you even want a peek?" Sliske taunted. "You'll like it - it's a doozy."

Glaring upwards, Jahaan maintained, "I'm not interested, Sliske."

"Well the thing is, World Guardian… you don't have a choice."

Sliske's hand shot outwards; Jahaan made for his sword, but he couldn't unsheath it in time, managing just to pull it half way before he screamed as Sliske's spell made contact.

Luckily, the pain didn't last long, and when he opened his eyes, he found his vision slightly… altered. The shadows were more pronounced, and colours were slightly muted around where Sliske was standing.

"What did you do to me?!"

Such shadows began to curl around their master and Sliske retreated backwards, a telling smile carved into his features. "You have such beautiful eyes, Jahaan. I merely… _enhanced them_ for you. Now you can see into the Shadow Realm, with a bit of practice. Next time, I want you to see me coming…"

With that, the shadows engulfed the Mahjarrat, and he faded away. His cackling laughter remained with Jahaan after he left.

Despite furiously rubbing his eyes and trying to blink rapidly as if he were dislodging a piece of sand, he couldn't help but notice the extra dimension Sliske's 'gift' had given his eyesight. It felt like an extra sense, but an unwanted one.

After taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, Jahaan started walking, hoping to make it to the Tree Gnome Stronghold within a couple of days of good pacing. At least then, if he was allowed to take a glider to Prifddinas, he could ask the elves to try and rectify the damage Sliske had done (and maybe fix the burns on his face while they were at it, but that was a cosmetic fix - not as important).

However, in order to access the glider, the king of the gnomes - King Narnode Shareen - requested that Jahaan help recover the 10th Squad who had gone missing in uncharted territory. This ended up being a LONG diversion, for the island the 10th Squad were trapped on was inhabited by intelligent (and very violent) monkeys.

By the time he'd recovered the squad, weeks had passed and he'd discarded the idea of Prifddinas for the time being, accidentally falling into yet another distraction. At the same time, he'd gotten quite used to his new eyesight. Looking to be glass half full for a change, he realised that with this 'gift' he really could sense if Sliske was nearby. That is, if he figured out how to properly see in to the Shadow Realm. He was practising, yes, but it didn't exactly come easy to a mortal.

Still, it was another string to his bow. Any weapon is a good weapon, in trained hands, and anything to help put him on an equal footing with Sliske was more than appreciated.

He'd also taken to trying his hand at magic. With whatever money he could accumulate, or as rewards from the various people he helped along the way, Jahaan had begun stockpiling runes in an effort to try and raise his mage game. The feeling of controlling spells from his palms was a rush akin to no other, but he didn't want to repeat the same mistakes he made on Freneskae - his face was still scarred over.

Due to their nature, Mahjarrat and many divine entities need no power source to fuel magical spells - it's innate within them. Humans, on the other hand, do. The most available source is runes, brought to Gielinor by Guthix in the First Age and spread across the world. The lower tier runes were easy for anyone to get ahold of and train with, shops stocking them in almost every major town. You can craft your own if you're capable, and it's a rather lucrative venture, but Jahaan decided that training one major skill was enough at the moment. Runecrafting could wait.

While Zaros was inhabiting his body he had a divine source of magic to fuel any Ancient Magick spell he could think of, but Jahaan had only managed a few of the basic blast spells, and even that left him with some unpleasant scarring.

Next time he had to fight with magic, he'd be better, Jahaan kept telling himself, and it was that sort of determination that kept him practicing almost every day.

Months passed, and Jahaan found himself getting rather comfortable with the basic spells. He could summon fire blasts consistently, with power and accuracy. Same went for air and water spells. He considered himself rather proficient in them, if he allowed himself the arrogance of admitting that. Of course, he'd yet to try them out in a combat situation - training dummies hardly put up the fight muspah did - but he was confident in his ability.

Next would be the Ancient Magicks, whenever he could save up enough for the special runes required.

Notable in his (unusual) absence during this time was Sliske. After giving Jahaan the 'gift' of seeing into the Shadow Realm, he had yet to make an appearance. Jahaan frequently tried to hone into the Shadow Realm in an effort to detect him, but honestly, it just gave him a migraine.

_Perhaps I'm doing it wrong…_

His paranoia wasn't exactly letting up; he expected Sliske to appear in the doorway, around the corner, draping himself like a silk-donned vulture over the bar he was drinking at, and yet he didn't.

Sliske's disappearance was… _troubling… _to Jahaan. He expected to see him, and he never did, and found his thoughts casually drifting to the Mahjarrat. _Where is he? What is he doing? What stupid shit is he planning this time?_

These were thoughts he did not care to waste his time and brain-space with, and yet, the thoughts didn't cease. He battled against them, but it didn't help.

He refused to admit that maybe, just maybe, a part of him missed the company.

Then again, another part of him was thoroughly relieved he didn't have to deal with Sliske's antics for the time being. The Mahjarrat was a bit too much.

Besides, Jahaan was the World Guardian, and while Sliske had two of the elder artifacts to use for his own disturbed amusement, he was the enemy of Gielinor.

Jahaan found that he was reminding himself of this more and more.

So Jahaan did what he always did when his own mind became the enemy - he preoccupied himself with his surroundings, and found that he soon lost himself in yet another adventure...

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	26. Quest 07: Dishonour Among Thieves (Ch1)

**Quest 07: Dishonour Among Thieves**

**Chapter 1 - Traveller's Tale**

Due to his status as the World Guardian, Jahaan wound up as part of Zamorak's heist team. Their task? Steal the Stone of Jas from Sliske and return its power to Zamorak. Jahaan gets to learn more about a god propaganda had always skewed, but will he be on board with Zamorak's plan in the end...

* * *

Jahaan had always existed as a 'have sword' and 'will travel' kind of person.

He had run across a few hapless souls in his travels, requesting his assistance in one way or another, and he'd obliged as much as he could - being an adventurer, it came with the territory. Then there were those people that weren't as much 'hapless' as they were 'helpless', like a chef that didn't have the right ingredients and for _some reason_ couldn't just walk to the farm and get some himself; Jahaan tried to help them anyway. Reward was always promised, and he ate well that night.

Then there were the outright bizarre situations Jahaan didn't realise he was stuck in the middle of until he was playing matchmaker between a yeti and a Fremennik queen, or brewing rum for pirates to keep the alcoholic zombies at bay, or stealing footwear for a genie who requested the 'sole' of the Mayor of Nardah.

Life in the adventuring world was crazy sometimes.

Now that he'd become the World Guardian, things had only gotten worse. Seems like everyone thinks Guthix's 'chosen one' can solve their problems, and no amount of explaining the whole 'right place, right time' mantra helped. Still, if he was being brutally honest with himself, Jahaan quite liked the attention, the travelling, the questing… all the reasons he'd set off from Menaphos with sword in hand in the first place.

This time, he ended up playing matchmaking for trolls, gave marriage counselling to a seagull, helped liberate the fairies from the ork invaders, invented bacon and, best of all, dealt with penguins wanting to take over Gielinor and trying to freeze the desert with a portable fridge.

_Sir Tiffy was right all along._

Still, he found it quite refreshing to not be dealing with any egocentric gods, or idiot Mahjarrat trying to ascend to godhood.

That was a nice change.

"...and then, the the goblin generals needed orange slices that weren't orange, some maggots that weren't bland, and some bread that wasn't crunchy!"

Jahaan had finally met up with Ozan all the way back in Varrock after he'd promised to help Queen Ellamaria decorate her palace garden - the ordeal was NOT worth Her Royal Snobbishness' behaviour - and began recounting his tales since the two departed almost eight months ago. It had been a long time apart, yes, but life had separated them in the past. Some way, somehow, they always found one another, usually at a bar. This time it was The Blue Moon Inn, quite near the centre of the city, and therefore packed to the brim with the usual Varrockian riff-raff. Most of the attention was around the famous ex-vampyre slayer, Dr Harlow, who'd stopped by for an ale on his way east.

Chuckling, Ozan took another glug of his bitter. "So what did you do?"

"Dye and spice was involved. The pot ended up exploding anyway - shot through the roof and all! It's a miracle there was anything edible after that."

"Well, they are goblins."

"Aye, that they are," Jahaan concurred, finishing up his drink. The cup was refilled before he had time to protest. "So how's Ariane?"

"She's alright, but spending a lot of time in the Wizards' Tower as of late. She had a premonition about the tower up in flames. Ariane was a seer - you gotta take visions like that seriously, y'know?"

Biting his bottom lip, Jahaan agreed, "Of course. These seer and gypsy types are frighteningly accurate sometimes…"

After Ozan finished his round, he looked out of the window into the night sky and remarked, "Damn, how long have we been in here?"

"Enough to build up quite a nice tab," the barman sauntered over with a smug smile, wiping down the spillage underneath Ozan's glass.

Wincing, Ozan ventured, "No chance I could reduce that tab with an enthralling tale of how I stole Sir Vyvin's armour?"

"No chance," the bartender asserted, his smile broadening. "And you owe me for the damage that little troll runt of yours has caused."

Eyes wide, Ozan bulked, "Don't call Coal a runt!"

"Whatever," he slid across a messily written tally on papyrus. "Here's the tab. Cough up."

After shilling out his hefty portion of the tab, his coin pouch feeling an awful lot lighter now, Ozan and Jahaan departed to their rooms, saying they'd meet up in the morning to walk to Draynor together. Jahaan had some unfinished business with a chef in Lumbridge, so it wasn't too far out of his way.

Jahaan entered his rented room and closed the door behind him, the sounds of the Varrockian bustle fading into the background.

However, that didn't last for long; the familiar sounds of a teleport spell alerted him to the intruder's presence first, and he drew his swords in the direction of the disruption.

Soldiers had come into the war hospital in Al Kharid telling stories of a twisted, hybrid of a woman. Something inhuman, but not like any race they'd ever encountered. She was Zamorak's right hand, a fierce general under his command. Gold-plated armour clawed around her bony form, her skin iron-like with patches of something that resembled normal flesh, but hardened and slightly scaly. Magenta energy twirled itself around her arms and wrists constantly, a low crackle becoming white noise in Jahaan's mind. Her eyes were a striking shade of pink, too, matching the gem she had embedded in her forehead.

"Greetings, World Guardian," her voice was harsh and brittle as she remarked, "You are not a hard man to find."

Jahaan edged a couple of inches backwards, allowing the tall woman room to breathe. "I know you. You were at the Battle of Lumbridge."

"Moia," the woman introduced, simply. "Your swords. I'm not here to parry. Put them away."

"A stranger just barged into my hostel room. Forgive me if I'm less than welcoming."

Sighing, Moia rubbed the crystal on her forehead. "Very well. I come here on behalf of my master. He wishes to recruit you to retrieve something of his. The reward will be handsome."

"No need to mince words - you want me to steal something," this wasn't the first time he'd been requested to 'retrieve' something. Jahaan didn't mind - it paid for his meals, after all. "What's the prize?"

"The Stone of Jas."

Jahaan did a double take, his expectations shooting up. "Oh yeah? And who's your master?"

"The rightful god of Gielinor, Lord Zamorak."

...and his expectations were thus cut down a little bit. "Yeah, I haven't had many dealings with Zamorakians."

"Isn't it time you rectify that?" Moia suggested, impatience bubbling under her desperate attempt to appear civil. "I did not see you fighting for Saradomin in Lumbridge. There is hope for you yet."

"Yeah, but didn't Zamorak lose at Lumbridge?" the remark wasn't meant to sound as insulting as it did, but when Jahaan saw the mist boiling around Moia's palms, he regretted his careless tongue.

Swallowing hard, Moia forced the mist to decapitate. "They were dark days. Zamorak is healing, and will get revenge upon those who fought against him. But right now, there are more pressing matters. I repeat: the Stone of Jas."

Jahaan inquired, "Why does Zamorak want to hire me? I've never exactly seen eye-to-eye with his chaos ideology."

"My lord believes you are instrumental, and if he does, then so do I," Moia explained, brushing her fringe from her eyes. "We are in need of your… unique skills."

"Because I'm the World Guardian?" Jahaan surmised. It wasn't a hard guess.

"Precisely. Somehow, your fate is bound to the events that are unfolding. We wish for you to be on the right side of history. Zamorak requests a meeting. Agree, and you shall discover where your true loyalties should lie. Assist in our mission, and you get to strip Sliske of his power source and end his little farce once and for all."

"Well, when you put it that way…" Jahaan began to grin. "The least I could do is hear him out."

Moia didn't smile. Jahaan didn't think she was capable. Instead, she retrieved a device from her utility belt. It was a tiny little box with a dial on it. Nothing fancy. Handing it to Jahaan, she stated, "Use this to be transported to our headquarters. You will arrive promptly on Erysail at full sun."

Sheathing his swords, Jahaan took the device, and after a brief 'farewell', Moia teleported herself away. Jahaan watched her form fade away, utterly baffled, fiddling with the device in his hands as a reminder that he didn't just dream that encounter.

Slumping down on the edge of the bed, he tried to think why Moia looked so familiar, and yet so alien at the same time. She didn't match the description of any race he'd ever heard of, let alone encountered. _That gem in her forehead was rather beautiful,_ he thought to himself, trying to unravel the mysteries of this woman. _It looked like… like the Mahjarrat gems. Was she another female Mahjarrat, like Enakhra? She wasn't at the Ritual, and she doesn't look completely like a Mahjarrat. A half-breed, perhaps? Is that possible?_

Suddenly, it tweaked in Jahaan's mind - _It IS possible! Sliske mentioned Lucien mated with a human woman. Could Moia be the offspring?_

Feeling rather chuffed at his deductions, Jahaan was tempted to ask for confirmation upon next meeting her, but realised in good time that might be a little rude.

Removing his sword belt, Jahaan let these thoughts twirl on inside his mind as he began to unwind. Erysail was three days away, so he had time to decide whether or not he was going to take the meeting.

"_What a tantalising proposition!"_

"Gahh!" Jahaan bolted forwards, his hand instinctively clutching into the handle of his sheathed dagger. He shot around with indignation in his eyes and saw Sliske materialise in the doorway. "Have you been here the whole time?!"

Tutting, Sliske replied, "Honestly Jahaan, what's the use of having the ability to see into the Shadow Realm if you never use it?"

"That's not answering my question!"

"Ah, you mean, did I hear your conversation with Moia? But of course! The girl was naive to think she could corner you without my knowing. Oh, and take your hand away from that little knife of yours. We both know you're not going to use it."

Jahaan didn't budge. "Why are you here, Sliske?"

"Well, it's like this," Sliske began, "I know of Zamorak's plan to steal the Stone of Jas, and you know I know, but they don't know that I know that they know."

Jahaan shook his muddled head. "Wait... what?"

"Ha! Did I lose you? In short, I know that one of Zamorak's agents has found the Stone, and they'll come for it soon enough. When they do, I'll be waiting."

"So... you want them to find it? Why?"

"My contest has slowed somewhat since Bandos's death. Sometimes a Mahjarrat must provide his own entertainment. I think it's time to spice things up," Sliske explained, casually making himself at home on the edge of Jahaan's bed, his long and bony fingers exploring the floral patterns embedded in the duvet. Jahaan followed him with a calculated glare. "You know, you really aren't a very welcoming host. You haven't even offered me a drink."

"You were saying?" Jahaan impatiently pressed, thinking the sooner the Mahjarrat got to the point, the sooner his hostel room would stop resembling a menagerie for the criminally insane.

"Right, yes, spicing things up - that's where you come in. If I were you, I'd lead them on, go and meet with ol' Zammy. Then, wait until the most deliciously dramatic moment to betray the usurper! Together, we could have some real fun on this one."

"And who says I'll play along?" Jahaan challenged, smiling wryly. "Maybe I'll like what Zamorak's selling. Maybe I'll join his cause."

"Maybe you will... but that would be terribly boring now, wouldn't it? You know, Zammy really is a lot of fun to deceive. Oh, how I used to play with him all those years ago…" Sliske stood up from the bed, his hunched over posture doing him a favour as Jahaan doubted he could stand up straight without hitting his head on the ceiling. "But I think you're _much _more fun to play with, Janny."

Jahaan forced himself not to flinch as Sliske approached him, half-lidded eyes and an amused smile carved into his striped face. He failed and shivered ever so slightly when Sliske cupped his chin, bony fingers digging lightly into his throat, tilting his head upwards.

The grip on his dagger tightened. Jahaan gulped, hissing sharply through gritted teeth, "Get off me."

This only made Sliske smile more at the challenge; he leered down closer. "Or what?"

Sliske had barely gotten the last syllable out before Jahaan had his blade across the Mahjarrat's throat, returning the challenging glare.

Sniffing a laugh, Sliske drawled, "Well, I did say to look me in the eyes as you slit my throat. So, what are you waiting for?"

He forced himself further into the blade, biting down on his grey flesh hard enough to draw a thin line of blood as his face loomed closer to Jahaan's, his defiant eyes never leaving Jahaan's green ones.

Matching this, Jahaan twisted the blade in such a way that it pressed tightly against the Mahjarrat's jugular, watching with satisfaction as Sliske's usual calm and collected expression flashed briefly with fleeting panic.

Sliske licked his lips and flashed a daring, thin smile. Seconds ticked on like years; Jahaan held his gaze steady, dancing across Sliske's yellow iris' which had an unmistakable glint in them.

_It'd be so easy,_ Jahaan's eyes narrowed into slits, steadying his breathing in order to prevent his hand from shaking, which was easier said than done. From the look in his eyes, it was almost as if Sliske was daring him to do it.

_I could._ _I could and he couldn't stop me. He's pressed too hard into the blade. It'd barely take a second and I could put him out of my misery. Out of everyone's misery._

Now his hands really were shaking; Jahaan couldn't look Sliske in the eyes anymore and instead rested his glare upon Sliske's jaw, which soon transformed into a cruel upturned sneer. Blood trickled down Sliske's neck as Jahaan's unsteady grip caused the blade to scrape against his flesh; Jahaan could feel the rhythm of Sliske's pulse beating against the metal, but he knew his own heartbeat was going even faster. As the blade dug dangerously deeper into the flesh, Sliske inhaled a sharp breath, hissing through the pain that came with it.

Jahaan's grip on the handle tightened; he was properly shaking now, closing his eyes in a desperate attempt to keep some resolve.

But it didn't work.

With a foul curse, Jahaan threw the blade to the ground, a loud metallic clang on the battered wooden floorboards reverberating around the room. He tried to gain some distance from the Mahjarrat by backing himself up against the wall. By accident he met Sliske's gaze, and it was a mistake, for it was like Sliske's eyes were claws that grabbed his throat, squeezing tightly and cutting off the circulation. It made Jahaan's attempt to recover his breathing even more of a struggle.

Sliske wiped the blood from his neck with his palm, examining it amusedly.

"I knew you couldn't do it," he remarked, a malicious undertone layered in his voice.

Gulping, Jahaan's eyes fell to the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck and whispered, "Leave, Sliske. Please… just go."

Raising a curious eyebrow, Sliske examined Jahaan like he was looking at him for the very first time. "You're an interesting specimen, Jahaan," he finally spoke up. "Very well, I shall take my leave. After all, you have to regain your composure for the big meeting with Zamorak. Until next time... ta-ta, my dear…"

Blowing him a taunting kiss, Sliske vanished. Once he'd gone, Jahaan slid down the wall and onto the floor, his hand unconsciously still at his neck while his heart remained firmly in his throat.

Jahaan didn't wait for Ozan next morning. Instead, he slid an apologetic note under the door, lying about an emergency - vague enough to cover all bases, specific enough to be believable. From the silence inside when Jahaan rested his ear against the splintered wooden door, Ozan was still sound asleep, and would likely stay that way for the next few hours. So, huddled up in a second-hand cloak he'd acquired, Jahaan set off into the brisk chill of a Varrockian dawn.

He wasn't ready to explain himself to Ozan, how he had the opportunity to dispatch Gielinor's greatest adversary, but couldn't. But at the same time, Jahaan didn't think he could take hiding it from Ozan much longer. Thus, the easiest option was to avoid him altogether, for now at least, until he'd figured things out in his own mind.

After tossing and turning for a lot of the night, Jahaan wasn't much clearer on anything, so why a walk in the freezing cold would help is anyone's guess. Nevertheless, along he trudged.

_Why couldn't I do it?_ The question haunted his mind relentlessly. _I've killed people for less. Why couldn't I kill him?_

Jahaan sighed to himself, hoisting his backpack further up towards his shoulders, marching onwards, going nowhere.

"Damnit Sliske…" he muttered under his breath. "How dare you get in my head…"

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	27. Quest 07: Dishonour Among Thieves (Ch2)

**Quest 07: Dishonour Among Thieves**

**Chapter 2 - Abstract of Zamorak**

Due to his status as the World Guardian, Jahaan wound up as part of Zamorak's heist team. Their task? Steal the Stone of Jas from Sliske and return its power to Zamorak. Jahaan gets to learn more about a god propaganda had always skewed, but will he be on board with Zamorak's plan in the end...

* * *

"Care for a drink?" Zamorak held out an engraved chalice, the inscription a foreign dialect that was painful to look at. "I don't know why assholes come into my churches and steal my wine. I'd make a mint if I just straight up sold it. Go legitimate and all."

So yes, Jahaan did take the meeting. Right on time he used the communication device that whisked him away… somewhere. He was underground, that's for sure. The claustrophobic feel of gravity assured him of that.

Zamorak had invited him into a chamber of sorts, akin to the dining room of a haunted mansion. The deity really did have a taste for the theatrical, what with the vampyric ornaments and arcane fixtures. Also, crimson. LOTS of crimson.

Zamorak practically blended into the walls.

He sat Jahaan down in a grand armchair of sorts, donned with decorative bones, and it made Jahaan feel like a supervillain.

Sniffing a faint laugh, Jahaan took the chalice and allowed Zamorak to fill it up to the brim with the thick red liquid, dark like blood. That last thought gave Jahaan pause before he put it to his lips, but after a quick sniff and being overwhelmed by the alcoholic, fruity scent, he assured himself it was indeed wine. "Thanks. I didn't think Mahjarrat could drink, though."

"We can't," Zamorak confirmed, taking a large gulp. "I'll have to get it out of me later. Doesn't mean I can't enjoy some good booze for now though."

Not wanting to press for anymore details, Jahaan asked, "Where on Gielinor are we? Are… are we still on Gielinor?"

Laughing, Zamorak said, "Of course we're still on Gielinor. This is temporary base of operations, courtesy of an old friend of mine - Bilrach - who you'll meet later on. Dug the place himself, crazy bastard. Crazy, loyal, dedicated bastard, that is. You humans would know of it as 'Daemonheim'."

Eyes wide, Jahaan audibly gasped. Yes, he had heard of Daemonheim, mainly from stories. A band of Fremennik warriors decided to sail west around the globe, discovering uncharted islands and unclaimed lands as they did so. Daemonheim was their greatest find. Despite being a part of continental Gielinor, no-one had ventured that far in centuries, the unforgiving terrain putting a fatal halt to would-be adventurers. Thanks to the Freminnick, the place was now accessible, though you should pray for those who dare to enter the dungeons beneath the ancient castle atop the snow. Floor upon floor of monsters, puzzles, hazards and traps. No-one had ever made it to the bottom floor; the lucky ones retreated to the surface, the others were not so fortunate. No-one knew who had built such a place, or why. No-one, it seems now, except Jahaan.

Smirking, Zamorak remarked, "I'm glad you're impressed. Not many have had the honour of stepping on such hallowed ground. It's a good place to regroup, after the battle with Saradomin didn't go as well as planned…"

"Yeah, how are the Zamorakians taking the defeat?" Jahaan inquired, taking a sip of the wine, far too bitter for his tastes.

"Better than you'd think. We lost a lot of forces, but I'm still swinging, and so are my Mahjarrat. Now I'm gonna to bypass this ridiculous little contest of Sliske's and take back the Stone. Let's see Saradomin stand tall then!"

Zamorak took a sip from his red wine, his eyes thoughtful and calculated, as the silence stretched on. After a while, he finally spoke up, "World Guardian, have you ever been told about Sliske's plays?"

Jahaan furrowed his brow, stopping mid-sip, suddenly worried. "No…"

Zamorak grinned, the flesh stretching and pulling across bone. "Man, you're going to love this. Sliske's always been a twisted bastard, but this put it to whole new heights. See, back in the days of the Zarosian Empire, we Mahjarrat were given pretty high-class roles - our reward for taking out the Menaphites. Half of us got chosen as generals and lieutenants in the army - known as 'Legati' in Infernal - while the other half were churchleaders, or 'Pontifixes'. Sliske, due to his… _unusual predilections_... was given the rank of Praefectus Praetorio - the head of Senntisten's secret police. Investigation, spying, interrogation… you can see how the role was built for him. In his free time, he was always writing. Stories, plays, even pathetic attempts at poetry. His plays were the most fucked up, performed for the top ranks of Senntisten, like urbane demons, bureaucrats… you know, the types of assholes that could afford to watch his nonsense. To make the plays, he rounded up the low caste and homeless, dressed them up in costumes, and placed upon each a crude wooden mask, which he whittled himself. Sliske gave the word, and the masks started doing their thing; they'd speak aloud, control the actor's movements, making 'em jerkily act and mime his play like demented puppets. Sometimes the actors actually stabbed each other to death with their weapons at the play's climax. In one show, one of the actors died - probably of some disease - in the middle of the performance, but the mask kept animating his corpse and the show went on. Sick, right? Worst part is, the audience lapped it up! Sliske went on to perform it about a dozen or so more times before growing bored - as he is prone to do - and moving onto something else. No-one dared speak up against him. After all, who wants to be at the centre of a Praetorian investigation?"

Mouth hung open, Jahaan sat there in horror, his mind doing him the courtesy of picturing every grotesque and gruesome detail. He was starting to feel nauseous because of it, and the wine probably wasn't helping matters. It took him a while before he could collect himself enough to exclaim, "Didn't… didn't Wahisietel say something?!"

Zamorak laughed sharply and so suddenly that Jahaan spilt a bit of his wine. "His brother gave up on his ways long before that. Sliske's always been fucked in the head, even back on Freneskae, playing with corpses with childlike glee. There's something seriously wrong with him. There was one of our kind, old Nabor - boring as dry brick but he was pretty sharp. He ran the insane asylum in Senntisten, became quite the psychologist while he did. He once remarked to me how he'd love to study Sliske, to really figure out what was up with him. Never dared invite him for a session, though. I used to see him and Wahisietel chatting - they were close. No doubt Sliske came up in their conversations."

Jahaan made a mental note to confer with Wahisietel when the opportunity arose.

But in all this, one thing became clear to him more than ever before: Sliske knew everything about him, but he knew nothing of Sliske.

Shaking the cobwebs from his mind, Jahaan rounded back to something less… horrifying. "Senntisten doesn't seem like such a bad place. Your kind were well taken care of, from what you tell me, so why'd you leave Zaros?"

"Depends on who you ask," Zamorak confessed, his fingers, unblemished and marble-white, scratching absently at his face. "Ask my followers and they'll all tell you a different story. Some think it was just a political coup, that I wanted to gain power with no endgame, or that I'd had a falling out with the 'Empty Lord'. Truth is, we needed to break free from Zaros. He wanted to know our every move, our every thought. When we went on missions, Zaros made us take along a man named Perjour, someone he'd cursed to be his bibliographer. Everything thought that man had, every single thing he witnessed, would be transcribed in a little book, which Zaros would sift through, looking for any seeds of betrayal from his followers. It was oppressing."

"So how did you get around that?" Jahaan inquired, drawn in by the energy Zamorak brought to his tales.

Grinning wickedly, Zamorak boasted, "I stole the book, switched it with a copy. Zaros was none the wiser. And thus, the seeds of rebellion were sewn."

The last comment was followed by a wink as he swirled around the wine in his class, looking all-too proud of himself. It seemed all Mahjarrat were capable of that unique form of unnerving smugness.

But something still stuck in Jahaan's craw; he hesitated, and Zamorak picked up on this. "Come on, just come out with it."

Exhaling deeply, Jahaan begun, "Alright… your chaos theory hasn't been painted in the best light across Gielinor. Is all of it really propaganda? What about the Culinaromancer? Count Malak? Lord Iban? And don't get me started on those dark wizards…"

Rolling his eyes, Zamorak's annoyance looked of one who had dealt with this before. "Okay, yes, we have a few bad eggs. It's a damn shame cos we started out so promising. Many came to me because they were fleeing or rejecting some aspect of authority within the Empire, and a philosophy that prized individuality over structure, society or government was just what they were after. But over time this developed into a very unhealthy anarchism; some followers 'misinterpret' my philosophy, twisting my words and using it as an excuse to steal, torment, attack… wanting to watch the world burn is nothing I've ever preached. But Saradominsts take these few radicals and think we're all like that. They spew out propaganda against us, saying we're all evil monsters and anarchists. The few have ruined it for the many."

"I hate that people think I'm evil," Zamorak continued, gulping down another swig of wine and instantly refilling himself. "Yeah, I've done some pretty bad shit in my time, but who hasn't? War is messy. If you want your hands clean, become a chef. Everything I've done, I've done for the betterment of my followers, for the Mahjarrat, and for Gielinor. Saradominism is all about 'join with me and you'll never have strife again'. We all know that's just bullshit. Zamorakianism is all about 'strength through chaos', about knowing that life can deal you a crappy hand, but it's that struggle and misery that can shape who you are and make you into a stronger, better person. Take you, World Guardian - I doubt your life has been all roses and daisies, right?"

"You could say that."

"I AM saying that. But tell me, think back… if all that hadn't happened to you, would you be where you are now, decked out in fine armour, drinking fine wine, talking to a damn fine god?"

A thin smile spread across Jahaan's face. He _understood_.

As Zamorak spoke more about his chaos philosophy, Jahaan was inclined to buy what Zamorak was selling. A lot of his ideologies matched with Jahaan's own views, and the deity was nothing if not captivating.

_It's just a shame some of his followers are so unbearable, _Jahaan internally groaned at the thought of Zemouregal.

But then again, when it came to philosophy, Jahaan's world view overlapped a lot with that of Zarosianism. Guthixianism, too. After all, once you're there for the final words of one of the world's most powerful deities, you form a _connection_.

Saradominsm did have some decent arguments, Jahaan would admit to himself, but he could never fall on board with the ideology, and definitely not the lifestyle. As for Armadyl, he hadn't ever really heard much from the winged deity, aside from his triumph over Bandos. It was too early to call a judgement on him yet.

There was always the Menaphite Pantheon, the 'go-to' religion for the desert-born.

_Gahh… these labels serve more harm than good…_ Jahaan grumbled to himself, fighting down another gulp of the wine.

While Zamorak tended to some business, the details of which he never specified, Jahaan was offered a teleport to the central chamber of the lair. Feeling it might be considered rude to refuse, and not wanting to accidentally go through the wrong door into one of Daemonheim's rumoured horror chambers, Jahaan accepted, and with Jahaan's permission, Zamorak's spell whisked him away.

The centre part of the lair Jahaan was as over the top as it was terrifying. Complete with lava fountains, torches of tall flames and crackling fire, grotesque chiselled statues of beasts and nightmares, and a crimson tiled floor with the Zamorakian symbol crudely embedded into it… this place didn't exactly scream 'happy fun time'. In fact, if Zamorak was trying to shake the 'evil villain' image the Saradominist propaganda department were creating, this wasn't helping.

The chamber wasn't massive in size, but its grandiose excessiveness more than made up for it.

Jahaan manifested in the centre of the room; a throne comprised of black marble and blood red horns strung across it directly faced him, while short hallways to the east and west had imposing doors adorned with skulls at either end.

The heat was also comparable to that of Freneskae.

Immediately, countless sets of eyes leered at him from all around, the present company of gathered Zamorakians all stopping to size up the newest arrival.

Feeling awkward, but not wanting to let it show, Jahaan strode over to one of the large pillars and casually leaned up against it, crossing his arms over his chest with an air of defiance, like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be here. However, he carefully avoided eye contact with anyone, subtly exploring the room with a low glance.

There were two Mahjarrat that Jahaan didn't recognise from the Ritual of Rejuvenation. One, a bulky looking fellow draped in thick, tattered cloaks. There was a presence about him, a power that rattled through his very being. He looked solid; while all Mahjarrat are technically immortal, this one actually _felt _it. It was almost unnerving. Yet, undermining that were his eyes - they looked haunted, flicking between the ceiling, the walls, the floor, like he was hearing sounds from all directions and trying to gravitate towards the strongest voice.

_But if he missed the Ritual, why doesn't he look all... half-dead?_ Jahaan pondered to himself, hoping he didn't look like he was staring.

The other Mahjarrat, on the other hand, did look worse for wear. Hazeel, he was known as. Jahaan had heard stories about his cult of followers in Ardougne, and how he'd ruled over the lands way back in the Fourth Age with brutality and fear. It was the Carnillean Family that became his end, alongside Saradominist peasants who, upon learning magic and runecrafting, wished to liberate their lands from the Zamorakian tyranny. They didn't manage to kill Hazeel, but they trapped him in a state of torpor, neither living nor dead. His skeletal appearance did have a rather blood-curdling quality about it. Unlike the other Mahjarrat, he had very large horns protruding from his forehead, looking quite similar to the headpiece Azzanadra wore. These, however, were sharpened into deadly points.

Jahaan wasn't quite sure how the two Mahjarrat could look so different - one full of life and vigor, the other frail and weak.

_If I tread carefully, perhaps I could find out? _Jahaan thought to himself, not quite looking forward to conversing with even more Zamorakian Mahjarrat than he had to, but his curiosity drove him onwards.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he strolled over to the rejuvenated looking one, greeting him with a respectful nod of his head. "I'm Jahaan. Zamorak sent for me. I don't think we've met before..."

The trailed-off sentence was an indication to fill in the blanks, but the Mahjarrat seemed rather perturbed at Jahaan's presence. Jahaan didn't think he was going to get a response and planned on awkwardly shuffling away, pretending that never happened as he did so, but the Mahjarrat's sudden response startled him into staying. "Bilrach. I am Bilrach. Forgive me, human contact is taking some getting used to."

_Seems nice enough,_ Jahaan decided with relief. Not wanting to let the conversation go dry for too long, he continued, "Pleased to meet you, Bilrach. I was at the last Ritual of Rejuvenation, but I don't remember seeing you there. You… you look well, though. Lots of… skin."

"I was digging," Bilrach bluntly replied. "Always digging, digging, digging… they thought this to be my tomb, but it was my salvation. The rift did not provide answers alone, though."

Quickly, Jahaan deduced Bilrach was not shuffling with a full deck. "Ah yes, Zamorak mentioned that you dug this place yourself."

Bilrach nodded. "Centuries I dug, trying to find the rift between realities, the place where the bond between worlds is at its weakest. Here, I was going to find Zamorak and pull him back to Gielinor. I did not succeed, but this chamber is the product of my labour."

"But if you missed the Ritual, how come you look so powerful?" Jahaan inquired, hoping the subtle compliment would work in his favour.

From the shift in Bilrach's demeanor, it seemed to work. "Ah, yes! Instead, after tumbling through the dimensions, I arrived on my home planet of Freneskae. There are no longer any of my kind there, but other tribes once existed. The Chelon-Mah and Mahserrat, born from the same energy as we Mahjarrat. It was then that I had an epiphany. Hmm."

Silence. After it was clear Bilrach was indeed lost inside his own head, Jahaan gently prodded, "And what was that?"

"Ah, yes. The other tribes were also bound to rituals, needing the life force of those that perish to sustain themselves. The Mahserrat decided to forgo this process, resigning themselves to a fate without rejuvenation. But the Chelon-Mah… hmm. The Chelon-Mah did the opposite. They concluded that only the strongest should live, yes. One almighty being, commanding the power of the entire tribe. I remember it. The battle blazed across the horizon – a glorious sight to behold, indeed. For weeks they fought tirelessly, until only one remained with all their power. A brutal incarnation of the Chelon-Mah tribe; the physical embodiment of war. Yes, his might on the battlefield was unparalleled."

"What does this have to do with your epiphany?"

"Epiphany?" Bilrach blinked. "Oh, yes. I knew that after thousands of years whilst the Mahjarrat have grown stronger, the Chelon-Mah would have diminished. With the Mahserrat all likely to have perished and no kin to sacrifice, he would never have been able to rejuvenate. I returned to Gielinor with the once-great Chelon-Mah captive. I slew him upon my very own Ritual Marker."

Jahaan gasped. "That worked?!"

"Apparently so. The rejuvenation was an unintended effect of his death. A strange power spread throughout the surface - you may have even felt it yourself. My kin would have believed me perished. But I live."

"But if you didn't know you'd be rejuvenated, why did you kill him?"

"On Freneskae we were at war with the Chelon-Mah; with no kin left to test his strength he turned to the Mahjarrat," Bilrach gravely explained, his eyes flitting over to the two doorways parallel to him. "He killed many of my brethren. Taking his life was a justice long overdue. As the only Mahjarrat at the Ritual Marker when I slew him, I was able to absorb all his power, hmm. I thought I could use this new power to bring back Zamorak. Alas, I still did not find the answers I sought. It would seem it is exceptionally difficult for anyone but a god to open a portal between worlds."

Remembering Zamorak's words from before, Jahaan thought to inquire into why Bilrach defected from Zaros to Zamorak, but by the change in tone and demeanour he received from Bilrach, he wished he'd never rocked the boat.

"You know nothing of the Mahjarrat, impling, and neither did Zaros," Bilrach's gravelly voice sounded like he'd inhaled too much Daemonheim dust. Though his voice was monotonous and grounded, his eyes seemed to dart and flicker. "We were warriors, brave survivors. In the Empire we grew soft. Zaros took our culture from us, tried to tame our nature, making us priests and bureaucrats - such positions are a disgrace to the Mahjarrat name! Zamorak reminded us of our birthright."

"Ah, I see you're getting yourself acquainted," a feminine voice faded in beside the pair, relieving the tension Jahaan had created. Moia walked up to stand beside Bilrach with the friendliest smile her contorted face could manage. "Jahaan, why don't I introduce you to everyone else while we await my master's presence?"

"Sure," Jahaan agreed, following Moia's lead with a quick look over his shoulder at Bilrach, who seemed to be muttering something under his breath. To Moia, he asked, "Do you know Bilrach well?"

"I do," Moia replied, solemnly. "He and I held hands as we walked into the rift together. But we were torn apart. I thought him lost. I found Zamorak, and he arrived on Freneskae."

Stopping their walk across the chamber, Moia leaned down towards Jahaan to speak lowly, "Bilrach has sacrificed a lot in order to provide my master sanctuary. When I first found him, he was… unrecognisable. Now, he tells me the voices have subsided at the very least. I… I still fear for him."

Not exactly sure what he was expected to say, Jahaan went with, "I'll look out for him."

This was the wrong answer; Moia shot him a glare that could melt mithril. "He doesn't need you looking out for him."

She stormed off across the chamber, sharply motioning for Jahaan to follow with a reluctant grunt of, "Come on."

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	28. Quest 07: Dishonour Among Thieves (Ch3)

**Quest 07: Dishonour Among Thieves**

**Chapter 3 - Chaos of Corruption**

Due to his status as the World Guardian, Jahaan wound up as part of Zamorak's heist team. Their task? Steal the Stone of Jas from Sliske and return its power to Zamorak. Jahaan gets to learn more about a god propaganda had always skewed, but will he be on board with Zamorak's plan in the end...

* * *

The first man - well, man-ish - he was introduced to was Jerrod, a dark-skinned unkempt looking fellow from the lands of Canifis. Canifis had only one prominent export, and that was werewolves. Jerrod happened to be one of those. As soon as Jahaan had approached him, Jerrod began sniffing the air, the look of unsated bloodlust dancing in his red eyes.

"Von't worry. I von't eat associates," through his thick accent, this was the most amount of reassurance Jahaan got from the werewolf, and decided to stay on the opposite end of the room to him as much as possible, especially since it was a full moon tonight.

Thankful to see another full-blooded human in the ranks, Jahaan felt most comfortable around the Lord of the Kinshra, Lord…

_Oh blast, what was it again? _Jahaan cursed his memory. _Lord… Nefarious? No, that makes him sound like a pantomime villain. Precarious? No, just as bad…_

Jahaan silently prayed someone would say his name in the not too distant future so he could make a better mental note of it.

Lord Whatshisname was the youngest appointed leader of the Kinshra, the 'Black Knights' as they had come to be known. They were the force that has tried and failed on many occasions to conquer Falador in the name of Zamorak. Despite the Black Knights not having a very formidable reputation, their leader certainly looked like he could handle his sword. Decked out in striking black armour, trimmed with gold and crimson, with spikes on the shoulders and joints, Lord Whatshisname did not appear to offer fools gladly, a scowl permanently embedded in his scarred face.

"Don't talk to me, human," Zemouregal sized Jahaan up as soon as Moia brought him close enough, towering over him by an imposing foot and a half. He was standing beside an irritated looking Enakhra, who rolled her eyes as soon as Zemouregal opened his mouth. "I've got nothing to say to you."

"Ah, I see you two have already met," Moia remarked, smiling exasperatedly to Enakhra with an expression that read, '_I know, right?'_

"Look, we have a common goal, and a common enemy in Sliske," Jahaan's teeth were so gritted he felt as if they were going to shatter. "Can we call a truce, for your master's sake?"

"He's not my 'master'," Zemouregal sneered. "I'm ruled by no-one."

"And yet, here you are."

Zemouregal slashed forwards, the armour on his stomach smashing into Jahaan's chest, knocking the man back a pace, but he quickly recovered ground. "Watch your tone with me, rodent," he threatened, not even trying to mask the intent behind his words. "Zamorak may have business with you, but not me. You step one foot out of line and I'll sever that tiny head from your shoulders, peel the skin like a grape and crush your skull in my fist."

Jahaan did not think it was wise to point out that, after his head was severed, Zemouregal could play kickball with it and he wouldn't care - he'd be dead, after all - but the angry Mahjarrat had definitely made his point. It'd be foolhardy to pick a fight with him; the room was full of Zamorakians who probably preferred a lukewarm glass of water over Jahaan.

Moia quickly ushered Jahaan away, and Enakhra worked to distract an angry Zemouregal.

The two kept their distance after that.

At least Hazeel seemed friendlier. Well, in comparison, a starving rottweiler is friendlier than Zemouregal. Jahaan had met Khazard at the Ritual of Rejuvenation, and their encounter was still fresh in the minds of both beings. From the glare Khazard was bearing down on him, Jahaan knew it'd be up to him to try and smooth things out.

One Mahjarrat enemy in the ranks was enough.

After nodding in greeting to Hazeel, Jahaan turned to Khazard and awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "Listen, I'm… I'm sorry about your dog."

"His name was Bouncer," Khazard stated. He looked a little startled by the apology, but he hid it well under a veil of resentment.

"Yes, I'm sorry about Bouncer," Jahaan continued. "It all got pretty heated. I just… I love dogs, too. I wish he didn't have to get hurt."

"Do you have a dog?"

"Not anymore, but I kinda have a pet troll."

Khazard seemed amused, his sorrow lifting slightly. "You have a pet troll?"

"Yeah, a baby troll. His name's Coal," relieved to find some common ground, Jahaan felt a weight lift off his shoulders. "I helped rescue him from Burthorpe."

Khazard appeared to smile back. It was a strange sight to see. "What's your name?"

Extending a hand to shake, Jahaan replied, "Jahaan. I know who both of you are. Your reputation precedes you."

After having his dominant hand nearly crushed into pieces by the Mahjarrat grip, Jahaan regretted the act of courtesy. To Hazeel, he asked, "How did you get out of your coma?"

"Coma?" Hazeel fumbled the foreign word on his tongue. "If you mean the state of sleep those cowards put me in, I have Zamorak himself to thank for my liberation. He awoke me upon his return. After all, I am like a brother to him."

"You missed a few Rituals though," Jahaan winced, his eyes boring into the hollow sockets of Hazeel's skull. "How do you feel?"

"I… am weakened, it is true," Hazeel regretfully informed. "My life force is critical. I shall not be able to accompany you on whatever mission Zamorak has planned for us today. Once the next Ritual of Rejuvenation is complete, finally I will retake what is rightfully mine."

"Ardougne?" Jahaan hazarded a guess.

"Precisely. I will reclaim that which was taken from me, just as Zamorak intends to reclaim the Stone of Jas."

Khazard put a gloved hand on Hazeel's thin shoulder. "There was a time when between us we controlled all of southern Kandarin. Our reign was glorious. With the combined might of our forces, we will crush them like ants under foot."

Smiling with an empty jaw, Hazeel replied, "It has been too long, Khazard."

"You taught me how to conquer. Now it is my turn to help you."

Despite feeling like he'd awkwardly stumbled into a nice little bonding moment between the two Mahjarrat, Jahaan tried his luck with the Zaros question once again. Thankfully, Hazeel's response was much more measured.

"Zaros was unfit to rule," Hazeel declared. "We never spoke with him, or saw him in public. He only ever conferred with that pious Azzanadra. Zamorak spoke the truth, that the Empire was stagnating, the priesthood - headed by Azzanadra - was corrupt, and that we had to take back control."

"And you, Khazard?" Jahaan inquired.

"I was born into the Zamorakian forces," Khazard replied. "I am the youngest of my brothers, born on Gielinor during the God Wars. My mother, Palkeera, died during the Battle of Uzer, shortly after my birth."

"And your father?"

Shrugging, Khazard attempted to look nonchalant, but his eyes darkened slightly. "No doubt he perished too."

The last person Jahaan was 'reintroduced' to was Nomad, a Soul Mage that Jahaan had the _pleasure _of encountering once before, and it was NOT a pleasant experience. He was undying, a man that had cheated Death numerous times and had somehow grown in power after every defeat. Nomad was known to be an apprentice of the late Lucien, before obtaining enough power and battle prowess to challenge his former master.

Nomad's large bald head had blue veins appearing through the thin skin, drawing patterns like a trail map. His stance was perplexing, too; he was crouched down like he was about to break into a sprint any second, with an arm bent to guard his scarf-covered mouth. His jagged staff was held behind him, traces of blue energy emitting from the point. He was quite a bulky gentleman, with armour blending in among his robes, the combination providing decent magical and melee protection.

Though Nomad was still technically a human, his obsession with souls and magic had corrupted him over the years, making him something more and, simultaneously, something less than a mere man.

Oddly, Jahaan found himself sympathising, if only somewhat. After the power Guthix had bestowed upon him, making him the World Guardian, Jahaan no longer felt like a mere mortal anymore. Perhaps it was narcissism? Perhaps it was naivety? Whatever it was, it was a feeling Jahaan couldn't shift…

It wasn't long before Zamorak graced the chamber with his presence, teleporting in just in front of the throne; the Mahjarrat only bowed their heads in respect, while the others took to their knees. Jahaan remained standing.

"Arise, my disciples of chaos," Zamorak began, motioning for them to stand. He stepped forward from the throne and settled between Moia and Bilrach. "Good to see you all again. Now, I'll get right to it. If you don't already know, we're going to steal the Stone of Jas from Sliske. I'm not playing his stupid games any longer - just like I taught you, we're going to take what is ours through strength and chaos!"

The cheers were interrupted by Moia who declared, "My lord, apologies for the disruption, but Viggora has returned. I can sense him."

Smirking, Zamorak replied, "Perfect timing. Khazard, I need you to enter the Shadow Realm and get Viggora."

"As you command," Khazard nodded, stepping forward to gain some ground. He concentrated hard, his eyes closed and fists clenching, but… nothing. Bafflement turned into panic as he failed once more to disappear into the shadows. Darting his eyes towards Hazeel, he exclaimed, "I can't enter the Shadow Realm!"

Puzzled, Hazeel calmly stepped beside him and tried the same motions, but to no avail. Gravely, he turned to Zamorak and declared, "My lord, I fear Sliske has been meddling with our ability to enter the Shadow Realm. I had sensed something afoul. I believe he has corrupted the boundary. I do not know how this is possible, but it is the only explanation."

Sighing, Zamorak said, "It's okay. Only that bastard Zarosian is a better manipulator of the shadows than you two. The failure is not on your shoulders - it's just another reason to strip his power away. Can you at least create a window into the Shadow realm so that we can see Viggora, even if you can't enter yourself?"

"I'll try, my lord," Khazard responded. With a few motions of his hand, and a slight strain on his part, a large enough window into the darkened mists of the Shadow Realm was created and a figure emerged on the other side. He was bald, but sported a radical two-pronged beard and a bulky suit of steel armour, trimmed in black. There was also the small matter of him being translucent.

When he saw Zamorak, he knelt. "_WoOoooooOOoo."_

Crinkling his brow, Jahaan looked around him in bafflement, wondering, _Did… did anyone else hear that?_

"So it's true," Zemouregal stepped forward, a slash of a grin on his face. "Viggora, I'd heard you lost your mind, doomed to wander the Shadow Realm for all eternity."

Moia quickly realised that Jahaan did not speak 'ghost', and lacking a spare ghostspeak amulet that the other non-Mahjarrat had thought to bring with them, acted as his translator.

"Zamorak's return broke the curse that was laid upon me," Viggora stated. "I may be confined to this realm, but my mind is my own, at last."

Zamorak had warmth in his expression that Jahaan had only witnessed fleetingly before. "I think back to that night on which we marched upon Zaros. It was beyond living memory that this many of us stood together. Rise, Viggora. What information do you bring?"

"My search took me deep into the swamps of Morytania, to the Barrows where Sliske's undead servants rest. There I discovered his lair, my lord. A stones throw to the south."

"More. What more did you find?"

"I passed deeper into the lair, past tricks and contraptions. It was at the heart that I found it."

"The Stone is there?" Zamorak's eyes grew hungry.

Viggora confirmed, "Yes, Legatus Maximus Zamorak. In a cavernous vault behind a bolstered door. In the Shadow Realm he hides it."

"You're one of my most exalted followers, Viggora," Zamorak commended, "If I could give you back your life, I would."

Bowing slightly, Viggora stated, "It is my duty. I am forever in your service."

Enakhra asked, "What else can you tell us about the defences?"

"On your way to the vault you will find several rooms, trapped and guarded," Viggora explained, "The door preventing entry to the vault will be particularly problematic - an intricate system of rune locks and trickery. Inside, I could see the Stone of Jas. That is all I know."

Nodding to his ally, Zamorak said, "Thank you, Viggora. That will be all."

"Good luck to you all. Through chaos, victory is in your hands."

With that, Viggora disappeared, and Khazard let the window to the Shadow Realm drop, visibly relieved at being allowed to relax his hold.

Zemouregal stepped into the centre of the circle that had formed, barking, "Let us strike now! We have the Stone's location - we must storm Sliske's lair by force!"

"Predictable," Enakhra muttered. "No, we must plan. This opportunity cannot be squandered."

"Enakhra is right," Zamorak agreed. "Sliske will be able to teleport the Stone away. He must not be alerted."

Lord… something or other… added, "If I may speak, it would seem our best option is a stealthy approach."

"Leave it to me," Nomad boasted, "The guards will pose no threat. I'll be back with the Stone before sundown."

"Ha! A likely story," Zemouregal snapped back. "No, I'm best suited for this mission. Sliske won't even know what-"

"Quiet!" Zamorak cut in abruptly. "You will ALL be needed for this mission. Here's what's gonna happen: the World Guardian is resistant to divine power, so if that smug bastard really has become a god, he can't hurt Jahaan. Jerrod's an agile guy, he can stealthily take out the guards in the outer chambers. Moia's got a unique memory infiltrating ability; they won't be able to defend against something like that. Daquarius, you're a smart guy, you'll be good at breaking the rune locks on the vault door. Enakhra and Nomad, your mastery of magic is going to be our tank power against whatever Sliske throws at you. Khazard, despite Sliske having handicapped your ability to enter the Shadow Realm, you can still open windows, which is damn important - that's where he's got the Stone, after all. Zemouregal, you're a necromancer even more capable than Sliske, so show his undead hordes no mercy. And Bilrach, you're gonna lead this group."

"It would be my honour," Bilrach bowed lowly, ignoring the side-eye Zemouregal was giving him.

"I will remain with Zamorak," Hazeel stated. "In my weakened state, I will be more of a hindrance than a help. Once you reach the Stone, Khazard has a communication device that will be able to alert me, and I will inform Lord Zamorak who will be able to retrieve the Stone from the Shadow Realm."

"But if Khazard can't get into the Shadow Realm, what makes you think you'll be able to?" Jahaan asked Zamorak.

However, the reply instead came from Zemouregal who barked, "You dare question our lord's power?!"

Holding an easing hand out to Zemouregal, Zamorak broke into a sinister sneer and assured, "If we can't get the Stone out ourselves, we'll just have to _make_ Sliske get it out for us. You understand?"

Gulping, Jahaan did.

Bilrach added, "I must remind you all, do not underestimate Sliske. I have sensed his power growing rapidly for some time now. He seems to flit in and out of my reach. In and out of focus. He knows I can sense him. Curious, yes. The Shadow Realm, perhaps."

Resting his hands on the hilts of his swords, Jahaan cautioned, "I've dealt with Sliske before. Despite his demeanour, he's not to be taken lightly."

"Wise words. Another reason why you were chosen," Zamorak replied. "The snake has taken a vested interest in you. Though if everything goes to plan, the filthy Zarosian won't have time to react."

General Khazard hesitantly ventured, "What… what if the plan goes wrong?"

Zamorak's confidence helped to assuage his doubts. "Then it will be chaos, and you will be in your element. Embrace it and realise your true potential. Now, move out. Head to Morytania and meet up at Sliske's hideout. Let's stick it to that daft bastard once and for all."

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	29. Quest 07: Dishonour Among Thieves (Ch4)

**Quest 07: Dishonour Among Thieves**

**Chapter 4 - The Heist**

Due to his status as the World Guardian, Jahaan wound up as part of Zamorak's heist team. Their task? Steal the Stone of Jas from Sliske and return its power to Zamorak. Jahaan gets to learn more about a god propaganda had always skewed, but will he be on board with Zamorak's plan in the end...

* * *

Morytania. The cruelest and most unforgiving kingdom in all of Gielinor. Sure, you had the lawlessness of the Wilderness, but that was mere anarchy - bandits and small groups of various races and creeds carving out a little piece of something to call their own, no matter how corrupt it was. Morytania was organised chaos, apt as it was the only Zamorakian kingdom left in the world. Morytania was a land of darkness and evil, inhabited by various creatures secluded in the region, scarcely seen outside of the kingdom's clouds. Such species include the vampyric race, werewolves, ghosts of unruly souls, ghasts and more. While some humans still remained, most of them were helpless under the tyranny of the vampyres.

During the Second Age, the northern and western areas of Morytania belonged to Zaros, while the southern parts belonged to Saradomin and were known as the 'Hallowland'. Once Zaros was deposed by Zamorak, the new diety gave Lord Lowerniel Vergidiyad Drakan, a vampyre lord who followed Zamorak during the God Wars, permission to conquer Hallowland as a reward for his hand in the rebellion. It wasn't long before Draken seized Hallowland for himself and renamed the city as 'Meiyerditch'. The citizens were held in the city so that Drakan's vampyres could drink their blood as 'tithes'. And so, Hallowvale turned into a blood-farming ghetto, the sky permanently darkened so that vampyres were no longer hampered by the sun. The death that Drakan brought destroyed the lands of Morytania. He turned fields into swamps, and any that died in their murky depths became undead known as ghasts. Lush forests were transformed into dead clusters of trees. Since its taking, Meiyerditch has been changed into an unrecognisable public squalor. The city is entirely isolated by massive walls on its north, east, and west side, and the south-eastern sea at its southern end effectively boxes the city in. To say that the conditions within Meiyerditch are terrible is an understatement. The city is overcrowded, with humans herded into small wooden apartments that have long since lost walls and roofs to the rot. Food is rare, and many are forced to eat rats to survive. Clothing and other basic necessities are also in short supply. All throughout the city, dying citizens can be seen huddled against walls and in the dark confines of alleys. The ghetto is divided into six sectors, each of which has a number of residents barricaded within. The inhabitants of these sectors pay forced blood tithes on a rotational basis, so as to prevent the large majority from dying of blood loss. Despite this 'measure', many citizens do not survive the tithes.

This is only a portion of the kingdom: Mort Myre Swamp lies in western Morytania, plagued by ghasts. It was once a beautiful forest by the name of Humblethorn, but was turned into a swampland once the evil denizens of Morytania descended. The Haunted Woods is a long-dead forest, the remnants of a once luscious and tranquil forest that spread across Morytania. However, when the vampyres arrived, the whole land began to decay and rot. Then there was Mort'ton, a village situated in Morytania, south of the Mort Myre Swamp. The town was once famed for its funeral pyres, though now it is populated by afflicted, strange zombie-like creatures that are the result of a disease which spread through the town some time in the Fifth Age, infecting the population. Nowadays, Mort'ton lies in ruins and, though the Sanguinesti Affliction is no longer contagious and does not present a threat to visitors, the afflicted citizens of the town still wander the streets, and derelict buildings and streets are prowled by shades of long-dead spirits, making the place even more hostile. Directly to the south was the ramshackle town known as 'Burgh de Rott' that served as the base for the Myreque rebels who fight to reclaim Morytania from the vampyres.

In the late Third Age, an army of Saradominist soldiers from Misthalin, led by six brothers - Ahrim, Dharok, Guthan, Karil, Torag and Verac - attempted to eradicate the evil creatures of Morytania. These commanders had been given extremely powerful sets of armour and weapons by a mysterious stranger, a follower of Zaros, and led their army with valour through the gloomy swamps of Morytania. Saradominist forces pressed from Paterdomus on the River Salve, all through Mort Myre Swamp, to the walls of Darkmeyer itself, the capital of the Sanguinesti region and the twin city of Meiyerditch. Darkmeyer was Drakan's residence at the time. Here the brothers made a heroic but bloody and catastrophic stand against Drakan's forces, slaying many. However, as they did, the mysterious stranger that had blessed them before their campaign arrived and told them that they must die, and when they fought with Drakan once again, their powers were greatly diminished. They received horrific wounds and many of their soldiers were killed. The troops were forced to retreat back to their camp. The army tried to treat the brothers' injuries, but their wounds proved fatal, and they all succumbed to their injuries. The soldiers were distraught; they knew that without their commanders, their campaign would end in failure. So, pausing only to bury their dead generals in six barrows, they turned back and fled to their beloved Misthalin.

It was here the Barrows Brothers were laid to rest, but they did not rest in peace, becoming the property of their new master and serving as his undead soldiers.

A stone's throw to the south of the Barrows' graves was Sliske's lair.

Without the aid of Moia's teleportation, Jahaan doubt he would have made it on his own. At least, not for a year of so, and likely missing some limbs along the way. It seems as if everyone else had the same idea, arriving in flurries of magic one after the other.

When Jahaan landed, he instantly wretched, the sudden onslaught of decay and rot assaulting his senses, the smell unbearable. He'd landed in sodden mud that coated him up to the ankle, scrambling to free himself before he sunk any further.

_Welcome to Morytania,_ he grumbled internally, shaking off a few flakes of mud which accidentally splattered onto the back of Zemouregal's armour. Luckily he didn't seem to notice.

The assembled group quietly trekked through a tiny portion of the swamp until they arrived at the entrance Viggora had described. Prising open the hatch, Bilrach climbed down first to scout out the area, waving the all-clear after a few moments of scanning. However, when they all made it down, their hearts collectively sank.

The tunnel was lit, torches protruding from the rocky walls, and on a plinth in front of them was a small handwritten note. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a poem, reading:

'_A Poem for the Lost'_

_Think no more of the bright, blue skies above_

_You can barely see five fingers raised in the dark_

_The green grasses you ran through as a child are gone_

_No longer surrounded on three sides by earth, wind and sea_

_Does your red blood even flow or heart beat anymore?_

_North, east, south and west are all the same_

_Only light and dark combined can guide you now_

Using a small spark of fire magic, Moia burned the note, announcing what everyone was thinking, "He's been waiting for us."

Instantly, Zemouregal snapped around to Jahaan and cornered him against one of the walls, growling, "Did you say something to that snake, _World Guardian?_" he spat the title as if it were a curse. "You were so chummy with Sliske and his Zarosian pals at the Ritual, after all."

Jahaan glowered up at Zemouregal, not letting the size difference put him off as he argued, "Hey, Sliske's no friend of mine. Don't you start throwing around bullshit claims you can't back up, or we're going to have a problem."

Roaring a chilling laugh, Zemouregal smashed a fist into the rocks behind Jahaan's head, breaking of chunks as he did so. "Is that a promise, or a threat?"

"Besides, Sliske can sense the Mahjarrat," Jahaan defiantly countered, making a good show of not being fazed by the towering figure looming over him. "He probably tracked your movements!"

"We've been here for mere minutes," Zemouregal snapped back. "How could he-"

"ENOUGH!" Enakhra shrieked, the flames in the torches flickering with cowardice as she did so. "It doesn't matter how he knew - all that matters is that he _does_. Zamorak's plan of stealth is null and void now. We have to charge through and make sure we get to Sliske before he disappears with the Stone again."

"Enakhra's right," Bilrach concurred. "Stealth would have been ideal, but we can't waste anymore time. He's waiting for us, that means he wants an encounter."

"So we need to go, _now_," Moia finished, leading the way down the tunnel. Her momentum didn't last long before she was surrounded by cave openings on all sides, clueless as to where to go first. Above each one was a coloured paint stroke.

"Vich way?" Jerrod sniffed at the openings, trying and failing to catch a scent.

"Oh blast, does anyone remember the poem?" Lord Daquarius asked, realising, "I think Sliske left us clues on that note."

Looking guilty, Moia didn't answer. After cursing an unfamiliar word, Khazard snapped, "Useless halfbreed! We needed that!"

"Well how was I supposed to know!" Moia whirled around. "And don't you DARE call me-"

"Blue skies!" Jahaan loudly cut in, silencing the quarrel. Once everyone was listening, he quietly repeated, "The poem mentioned blue skies. Look for something blue."

In moments, the group had found the blue paint stroke above one of the doors and quickly proceeded into the next tunnel.

"Five fingers," Jahaan stated the next clue he remembered, unsure as to how he could remember such a poorly written poem over the name of Lord-

_...fuck. Nevermind, the poem is more important._

Pointing to a 'V' over one of the doors, Bilrach announced, "The Infernal symbol for five. This way."

They continued on like this, making light work of the rest of the tunnel system until they reached one last corridor leading to a large expanse. Upon brief inspection, it was a crudely constructed maze with wight guards patrolling at every turn.

After peering out from their safe spot to survey the best route, Moia declared, "We'll have to sneak past them. If we alert them to our presence, more might arrive."

"We can handle whatever comes our way," Khazard declared, drawing his mighty longsword, the blade glinting in the low torchlight.

His ears pricked to the never-ending footsteps of the marching wights, Bilrach countered, "We might get overrun. Who knows how many he can spawn? If we falter this early on, all this effort was for nothing."

Nomad stepped forward. "Leave it to me - these wights are no match for my prowess. I'll deliver the Stone to Zamorak with ease."

Sliding in front of him, Zemouregal sneered, "Nice try, mage, but I wouldn't trust you to deliver a letter. You're not leaving my sight."

"Oh, and you think you have the power to stop me?" Nomad challenged, jeeringly. "How droll."

"When this is over, I'm going to deliver you to Death in parcels."

"Gentleman, please!" Lord Daquarius interrupted, the vain in his forehead bulging. "This is getting old. Let us but aside our petty differences and take down these wights together. We must not fail Lord Zamorak."

Wordlessly striding past Lord Daquarius with a self-righteous grin carved into his ashen face, Zemouregal summoned a bolt of smoke magic and blasted the closest wight to pieces before anyone could stop him. Instantly, five more rounded the corner, their green glowing eyes lighting up the end of the hall.

"There. No more debating. You're welcome."

From the sounds of the incoming footsteps, more wights were arriving.

Summoning fire to her palms, Enakhra growled, "Zemouregal? You're an asshole."

From the looks of the scenery Jahaan passed as he slashed through the horde of wights, Sliske had clearly devised some elaborate stealth-based mazed, complete with glowing masks to avoid, patrolling wights to assassinate, and levers to toggle certain doorways and passages.

The Zamorakians had botched all of that, charging through with the subtlety and grace of a fox in a hen house.

Fortunately, they didn't get overrun by Sliske's wights. In fact, the danger they presented was more to one another, accidentally tripping over each other's robes in such a narrow corridor, or sending a spell that shot past an ally a little too close for comfort, or straight up just running into one another as they barged through the wights.

_Yes, Zamorak would be pleased..._

When the group made it past the wight guards and into the next room, they weren't thankful for what greeted them; a narrow bridge, crowding them all together once more, that approached a large set of doors. A basic representation of Sliske's face was painted upon them. _Not egocentric at all…_

Embedded onto either side of the doors were two wooden masks; one, the picture of glee and mania. The other, morose and miserable. Enchanted, the pair of them - magical energy radiated from their carvings, and it allowed them the power of speech.

"Welcome, welcome! It's so nice to have guests!" the joyous one cheered, the positivity positively sickening.

The dirgeful mask seemed to concur that his partner was annoyingly over the top, remarking, "Must you be so incessantly cheery all the time, Light?"

"Oh come now, Shadow, we hardly have visitors," Light tried to reason, its joyful energy never wavering. It's voice was an over-enthusiastic replica of Sliske's own, with the dial turned up to eleven. "Besides, they've made it this far. They've come to play our little game! Won't that be fun?"

"No. It won't be," Shadow grumbled. Like its mania-induced counterpart, this mask, too, spoke with Sliske's accent and intonation. However, unlike its opposite - and indeed unlike Sliske himself - this mask's voice sounded earnest, genuine, not a parody of emotion. "I suppose the sooner they leave, the sooner I can sleep and be rid of you. Fine, fine. Get on with it."

The elation (and subsequent irritation) of Light managed to increase tenfold. "Fantastic! Now, this game is rather simple, once you get the hang of it. There's shadow and light energy gauges on this here door, and two of you must keep them balanced at all times. Thing is, the energy beams are in the Shadow Realm, so a couple of you more skilled fellows will have to open up a window into it for the others to connect themselves to the streams. A few delicate wights are lurking around with knowledge of how to crack the door's code, so stealing their memories will make unlocking the door a doddle. Ah, but there are a few troublesome souls waiting in the wings to overrun you all, so you best delegate a couple of agents to defend against them. Careful, too much light or shadow energy will cause a bit of an explosion, and I'm not quite sure any of you would survive, which would be such a shame."

Shadow sighed with the world-weariness of a broken down furnace. "Just steal the memories of the wights, balance the energies, unlock the door, try not to die. You don't need all that nonsense, Light. Just get to it."

Light sighed himself this time, but his had the hint of a chuckle. "You really are no fun, are you old chap? Nevermind. It's time for these fellows to get cracking! Best of luck, you chaotic little so-and-so's!"

The team quickly got to work after the masks grew silent. Jerrod would sniff out an undead guard and bring him to Moia for his memories to be read. Meanwhile, Nomad and Enakhra kept the shadow and light energy streams balanced, respectively, as Bilrach and Khazard used their prowess with the Shadow Realm to keep windows into it open. Zemouregal fought to defend the room from the undead hoard that tried to break through. When the wights ended up encroaching from all angles, Jahaan and Lord Daquarius ended up fighting them off too.

Low moaning echoed from the wight Jahaan tangled with. Once it was dead for good this time, he called out, "How's everyone doing?"

Looking around, he saw Enakhra and Nomad straining under the pressure of the energy beams, trying to keep them in balance.

"We need more light energy!" Nomad called out, and he would get a brief moment of respite to relax while Enakhra all but crumbled under the increased pressure.

Fighting under the weight, Enakhra shouted, "Moia, how much longer?"

With her hands on a prayer-like motion, Moia channeled her focus into the wight Jerrod had brought before her as it struggled under the werewolf's grasp. "Soon. I have three of the four runic symbols required."

This wasn't reassuring enough for Enakhra who, unfortunately, crumbled under the weight of the beam, crying out as the energy engulfed her. Hearing this, Zemouregal shot around and charged towards Enakhra, throwing her out the way as he took the weight of the light beam himself. While Enakhra struggled to catch her breath, panting and choking from the pain, Zemouregal kept up his end of the beam long enough to rectify the damage his female Mahjarrat comrade had unintentionally inflicted upon the energy metre. Soon enough, it was Nomad's turn to bear the pressure, but luckily, he managed it well. Still, this little switch-out had left Zemouregal's corner undefended. As there seemed to be less monsters coming into his section, Jahaan pulled double duty, running across the chamber to dispatch the conga-line of wights that had piled up in such a short amount of time. Eventually, Enakhra was recovered enough to defend against the wights, but she did not volunteer to retake the beam from Zemouregal. Naturally, she didn't even say thank you.

"It's done!" Moia exclaimed, backing away from the guard she was harvesting a memory from and sprinting over to the door, quickly inputting the combination. As soon as the last symbol was twisted towards, the assault of the undead hoards ceased, as did the light and shadow beams.

After a series of clinking metallic sounds from inside the door's mechanism, it swung wide open.

Inside, straight ahead, a platform, built for the Stone of Jas.

But there was no Stone of that platform.

There was only Sliske.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	30. Quest 07: Dishonour Among Thieves (Ch5)

**Quest 07: Dishonour Among Thieves**

**Chapter 5 - Wrath and Ruin**

Due to his status as the World Guardian, Jahaan wound up as part of Zamorak's heist team. Their task? Steal the Stone of Jas from Sliske and return its power to Zamorak. Jahaan gets to learn more about a god propaganda had always skewed, but will he be on board with Zamorak's plan in the end...

* * *

Moia's eyes narrowed as she locked onto Sliske's glittering yellow irises. "Sliske…"

With a dramatic flourish, Sliske flamboyantly gestured around him. "Welcome! How nice to finally have some visitors. Hope you like what I've done with the place. The statues are truly inspired artwork, I think. I recommend having a-"

"Enough of this prattle!" Zemouregal cut in, summoning smoke to his fingertips with malicious intent. "I say we eliminate this vermin before he has the chance to scurry away!"

Hopping backwards, Sliske held his palms outwards and said, "Ah-ah-ah! How rude of me, I almost forgot to introduce you..."

Shivering slightly, Khazard took a tentative step backwards. "Bilrach... do you sense that?"

"Yes, Khazard, I sense it too," Bilrach's fists were clenched, his voice low and eyes darting around him. "Be on your guard."

Sliske's smile grew wicked now. "I think it's time for you to meet the other guests."

From a cloud of smoke, Sliske revealed his latest creations: shadow replicas, clones of the present Zamorakians that nested comfortably in the uncanny valley. They wore the same armour as their counterparts, had the same weapons, but they still seemed… _off_. Perhaps the sinister air surrounding them was just something that had brushed off from their creator.

"Nomad, meet Nomad!," Sliske proudly introduced, watching the expressions of confusion and horror from the Zamorakians with twisted glee. "Daquarius, meet Daquarius! Jerrod- well, you get the picture."

"So this is the result of your twisted experiments in the Shadow Realm," Bilrach regarded the shadow apparition of himself without amusement.

"What have you done, Sliske?" Khazard demanded, his hand clenched around his sword hilt. The shadow figure of him mimicked the action. "Playing god like this is dangerous - even for you!"

Sliske sneered, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were scared, Khazard."

"No!" Khazard barked, too sharply, and it betrayed him. "Surely they are nothing but apparitions, constructs of shadow…"

"Indeed," Nomad concurred, his resolve more certain. "A nice trick, but nothing more, conjurer."

"Oh, but they are so much more! You will find them to be quite formidable opponents."

Jahaan scanned the ranks once, then twice, and noticed an absence. His tone was slightly wary as he inquired, "So where's my one?"

The smirk Sliske gave him made Jahaan wish he had never asked. "Such impatience! Just you wait, I still have an ace up my sleeve for you..."

"We have heard enough of your empty words," Moia summoned a ball of flames to her palms. "Disciples of chaos, ready yourselves!"

With that, the Zamorakians drew their weapons and readied their spells; their opposites did the same.

Unsurprisingly, Zemouregal was the one to make the first move, blasting Nomad's double with a bolt of shadow magic. "Ha! Been waiting to do that for a long time."

Taking it personally, Nomad squared off with Zemouregal's clone, while the others paired off with their counterparts in a flurry of combat.

Jahaan was about to get stuck into the action too when he felt a force tug him backwards. From the instant chill, he realised he'd been dragged into the Shadow Realm again, the dark tinge his vision he'd acquired confirming this.

He wasn't alone. This he knew. He could sense a presence. Nay, multiple presences. Those not quite living, not quite dead. These weren't Sliske, but he was here too, his looming spirit omniscient.

Right in the centre of the room, a platform, holding the Stone of Jas atop it.

Sliske's voice echoed around the cavernous vault. "_Welcome to the carnival, Jahaan! It's been too long, my dear. Now, it's time for the main act to begin..."_

Suddenly, a figure materialised and charged at him, holding two blades akin to his own. Instinctively, Jahaan swung for the apparition, only for it to disappear in a cloud of smoke. Confused, Jahaan held the grip of his swords steady, shuffling backwards.

It was a whisper of a sound, a ghost of a noise, but there was someone behind him. Slashing around in the area his ears had tweaked, his blades greeted nothing.

Just as he was about to grumble out his frustrations, another figure appeared at his six o'clock. Jahaan rolled out of the way of the crushing sword blow, whipping around with his two blades, expecting not to meet the attacker. But this time, he did. His swords clashed with two blades, similar to his own, but radiating smoke. The opponent holding them was himself. Or, rather, a slightly more contorted version of himself. Pupilless eyes, slightly crooked limbs, like a puppet being held on a loose string. The likeness was revolting, for Jahaan felt like he was looking into the zombified version of himself, entranced and helpless to Sliske's command.

It also had a hauntingly familiar smile carved into its overly pale face.

"_Do you like him?"_ Sliske's voice was laced with a malicious chuckle. "_It's such a shame you scarred that pretty face of yours, you know. Such a waste."_

Despite being faced with… himself… Jahaan found that he was on the defensive more often than not, and that every strike he made was countered perfectly. Knowing he was fighting an uphill battle, Jahaan said to himself, _This is just a game to Sliske, like everything is. I've gotta focus on getting the Stone back into the material realm..._

As he sparred, Jahaan edged backwards, closer and closer to the Stone. A blade swung for his neck, but Jahaan ducked in time, managing to use one of his blades to swipe at his opponents shins. Despite being a shadow construct, the counterpart took the hit like he was flesh and blood, and Jahaan capitalised with a slash across the chest with his other blade, only cringing ever so slightly at the sight of causing 'himself' such agony.

Not wasting a second, Jahaan dashed up to the Stone's plinth, finally taking in the awe-inspiring power radiating from the immense artefact up close. It caused his skin to crawl as he felt the energy creep underneath his flesh and into his veins.

Despite guessing that it would be foolish to reach out and touch the godly weapon, Jahaan decided to reach out and touch the godly weapon.

Upon touching the Stone, Jahaan's mind was cast back through time to witness a memory that was imprinted on the Stone of Jas many years ago, far back towards the end of the Third Age, and to a land once known as Forinthry…

The battlefield was solemn, a haunting wind crying out through the desolate grey sky. Mere minutes beforehand, the place was ablaze with the clashing of swords, the screams of battle, and the rattle of magic. Now, it was eerily quiet, save for the low groaning of the wounded and the unstable pulsing of energy emitting from the Stone of Jas.

Panting, Zamorak was huddled over on the ground, a hand defiantly (albeit desperately) sealed onto the Stone's surface.

When he blinked through the grit in his eyes, he saw three figures looming over him, though keeping a comfortable distance.

Saradomin, Armadyl and Bandos, side by side.

"You are defeated, Zamorak," Saradomin announced, barely keeping the smugness from his tone. "Give up the Stone."

"Never," Zamorak spat, unsurprised when blood spilt from his lips. "You betrayed me, you bastard! You threw away our alliance the moment your knife could find my back!"

With his words, the Stone's surface quivered and cracked, energy pounding through it with more vehermence than ever before.

Seeing this, Armadyl pleaded with heavy eyes, "Please, Zamorak. Look at the Stone. Your desperation is causing it to become unstable!"

"Stop squawking, bird," Bandos grunted, tightening his grip on his large warhammer. "Bandos has destroyed red man's armies. Now, Bandos finish red man too!"

"There's a peaceful way out of this for all of us, you barbarian," Armadyl maintained, softening his tone when he returned his focus to Zamorak. "Please, Zamorak. It does not have to end like this..."

Saradomin's eyes were on fire, burning holes through Zamorak's skull. "You cannot reason with this mad dog, Armadyl. He and his forces are devoted to evil above all else."

"Lies!" Zamorak rebuked, forcefully. "You do not understand… you have never even wanted to fucking TRY and understand! I have risen to power through my own strength and will, and that is how ALL can thrive! You… you little bitch, you're wretched and weak, just like your pathetic excuse for an ideology. Order leads to stagnation, but chaos leads to innovation, empowerment, FREEDOM!"

Now, the Stone's pulsing began to cause rifts in the world, quaking the earth surrounding them all, but Zamorak didn't even seem to notice. Armadyl's resolve, on the other hand, was about as unsteady as the ground beneath him. He looked over his shoulder to the aviansie army behind him, the fearsome warriors that had followed him from their home world on Abbinah in hopes of finding peace on Gielinor. He had lost a fair few good soldiers in the battle preceding this standoff, and he would weep for them all. However, many were still alive, and thus one thing was repeating inside his mind, clawing fiercely to escape.

"Zamorak, I beg of you - the Stone!" he implored with increased urgency. "You know not what you are doing. You could annihilate Forinthry and all innocent life within!"

"Do you see now?" Saradomin swept a grand gesture behind him. "This is what you truly stand for - the destruction of life. You are nothing but a villain."

Coughing, Zamorak ignored the blue deities remarks and turned to the others. "Armadyl... Bandos... hear me. Everything I've done was for Gielinor. I seek only to raise up the people of this world."

But Bandos just laughed. "Ha! The mighty Zamorak, begging on his knees. Pathetic."

There was a glint in Armadyl's eyes, however, that indicated he might be reasoned with. "Saradomin, does he speak the truth?"

Quickly, Saradomin dispelled this idea, eager to keep his allies on his side. "Lies, all of it. He is trying to manipulate you. We each allied to bring this wretched criminal to justice. The Stone is rightfully mine!"

This didn't sit well with Bandos. "Yours? Looks like fair game to Bandos, old man."

Latching onto this, Zamorak growled, "Saradomin, you only want to rule and control this world with your power, the same as Zaros before you. Stagnation and weakness is all that comes of it."

"And you believe chaos to be the answer?" Saradomin rebuked. "Would you have this planet ravaged by a never-ending war?!"

"Conflict would be inevitable, yes, but the people of the world would be _free_. Free to fall and grow, to fail and rebuild-"

"MADNESS!" Saradomin cut in, and by the looks on Armadyl's on Bandos' faces, Zamorak knew he had lost them all. Nevertheless, he persisted, "Surely you can see the value of my words, Bandos?"

"They are just words," Bandos snarled. "Powerless and empty. In another time we might have seen eye-to-eye. You might have been allowed to fight for Bandos."

Lastly, desperately, he turned to Armadyl. "Armadyl? Come on…"

His eyes wavered, and he looked away from the downed deity. In a regretful tone, Armadyl said, "I am sorry, Zamorak. I cannot allow chaos to engulf this world."

Sneering with victory, Saradomin declared, "The time has come for you to meet your end, usurper."

"NO! You are all blind!" Zamorak's rage began to get the better of him, and the Stone crackled and pulsed in time with his temper, shaking the ground beneath as it started to glow brighter. "None of you are deserving of this power. None of you! If I must meet my end, THEN EACH OF YOU WILL MEET YOURS!"

Jahaan could no longer hear anything, and his vision began to get blurry. Armadyl reached out a hand, Bandos charged forwards, Saradomin raised his Staff, and Zamorak rose to his feet with the power of the elder gods infused into his heart. The world burst into light, and then receded just as quickly into darkness.

When Jahaan opened his eyes, he realised that he and the Stone were back in the material realm. He was still attached to the Stone, and it required some fighting to break free from it. Once he did, he noticed how his entire body was tingling, similarly to how he felt with Zaros inside of him. This time though, the power was much stronger, dizzyingly so. He felt unstable, but at the same time, he felt _immortal_.

Clenching his fist, he noted how energy was literally sparking from his knuckles. It was intoxicating, and it made him want to _fight_. The nearest conduit for his adrenaline was the shadow copy of Enakhra; Jahaan didn't even draw his swords as he knew he had the power flowing inside him to channel a magic spell. What spell, though, he wasn't sure - he had no runes, and Zaros only acted as a substitute for the ancient magicks.

Soon enough, he realised this little conundrum wasn't going to be an issue as he shot a bolt of pure elder energy out of his palms, so powerful that the Enakhra shadow dissipated upon contact.

Startled, Enakhra spun around to see who had stolen her kill. Grey eyes sparkled with shock horror when they met Jahaan's green ones, seeing the fire dancing inside them and the magic wrapping around his palm.

However, Jahaan realised that the attack had used up a lot of the power he'd taken from the Stone. Knowing the magic was fleeting, he thought to pick his next target more wisely. Zemouregal's shadow was long since dead, as was Nomad's and Khazard's. The aforementioned had spread themselves around to take out the remaining shadow's of their comrades. Only Lord Daquarius fought alone, sparring with a mirror image of himself. Jahaan sprinted over, gathering the magic to his fingertips, but a lighter blast this time - overkill was not necessary. The amount definitely proved to be effective as Lord Daquarius' shadow went down without a second thought.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bulky figure running towards the Stone. Clearly he wasn't the only one to see it as a female voice called out, "Nomad, stop!"

Instinctively, Jahaan whipped around and fired a bolt of energy towards the charging Nomad. It caught his back and shoved him forwards, onto his knees.

"You dare stop me from realising my destiny?!" he bellowed, picking himself up and changing the grip on his spear so it was as if he was holding a javelin. "Only I am worthy of the Stone's power! Foolish human. I should have finished you long ago!"

Swiftly dodging to the side, Jahaan missed the spear's deadly tip by a literal hair's length - he felt it cut through his dreadlocks - and retaliated by slipping his dagger from the sheath at his back and launching it towards Nomad, slicing into the soul mage's fingers.

Roaring in pain, Nomad clutched his left hand, watching helplessly as blood poured from where his index finger used to be. It'd been sliced clean off from just above the top joint, and his middle finger had also lost the tip. Seeing he was outnumbered and losing blood fast, Nomad caved and teleported away, a harsh curse thrown in Jahaan's direction for good measure.

Once he left, another figure emerged, fading in under the glow of fire and shadow.

Zamorak had arrived.

He wordlessly nodded to his followers, then to Jahaan, before turning his attention to the Stone. Eyes full of hunger, he strode up, examining the glowing and crackling specimen for only a fleeting moment before he placed a grey claw upon its surface. Reeling back, Zamorak began to shake, his body convulsing as energy surged through his veins.

It was at that moment Sliske revealed himself once more. All the Zamorakians were so focused on the spectacle of Zamorak absorbing the Stone's power that they didn't notice the snake's arrival, but Jahaan did. He didn't have time to act, or even call out, before Sliske began to move, disappearing back into the shadows. His movements were quick, his appearances fleeting; he appeared in front Khazard first, thrust a palm into the Mahjarrat's stomach and chest, and then vanished once more before reappearing in front of a new target. Whoever he touched was left paralysed, limbs frozen and stiff as a flurry of shadows engulfed them. Jahaan, however, had been spared, and could only watch in amazement and horror as Sliske effortlessly worked his way through the Zamorakians.

By the time Zamorak noticed, all his followers were incapacitated. Growling, Zamorak removed his hand from the Stone, staring daggers through Sliske when he manifested opposite him. The fury in the deity's eyes could burn castles to the ground, yet Sliske seemed unphased, or at least that's the facade he wore.

"So, the serpent finally rears its ugly head," Zamorak spat, his fists clenched into tight balls as the elder energy flowed between his fingers.

"Ah, good ol' Zammy," Sliske cheered in response. His smile dripped from his lips like acid. "It's nice to see you again too."

"Release my followers or you will leave here in a FUCKING BUCKET."

Tutting, Sliske's smile grew into a wicked grin. "Careful, I could disappear into the shadows with the Stone faster than you could say 'Saradomin'."

Zamorak stance was proud, solid, immovable. "You better watch that tone of yours," he threatened with a hiss. "I'll rip your tongue out with my bare hands for all the shit it's caused."

Sliske's stance, on the other hand, was hunched, casual, his hands wringing together incessantly. "Oh, come now, we have so much in common! There was a time when we stood side by side, many lifetimes ago."

"We're nothing alike, _Blasckum_."

At this, Sliske roared with laughter. "Such colourful language! Do be careful - there are humans present, after all. And to use such harsh words against one of your brothers!"

"We're not brothers anymore," Zamorak maintained, his voice cold and chilling.

"Oh but we were!" Sliske maintained, his voice cheery but his eyes emotionless. "Back in the good old days of the Zarosian Empire. Did we not work together then, Legatus? Until you stabbed Zaros in the back, that is."

Sliske leaned in a little closer, his voice lower and more calculating as he revealed, "Tell me, Zammy - do you really think that the Praefectus Praetorio was unaware of your plot against the Empty Lord?"

Zamorak paused, hesitant, carefully trying to read Sliske. "...bullshit."

This elicited a grin from Sliske. "Why would I lie about this? The old society was oh so boring. Everyone being watched, afraid to put a foot out of line. Your development of this 'chaos' ideology was a breath of fresh air. Honourable intentions certainly, but it was the results that had me intrigued."

"Chaos is not a game where you can pull the strings," Zamorak asserted. "Only an arrogant Zarosian would believe they could play puppet master."

"Yes, I suppose that is where we differ," Sliske sighed. "But ask yourself, do the motivations really matter when the goal is the same?"

"You're no ally of mine, you damn snake. Fuck off back to the shadows where you came from. The Stone belongs to me now."

Erupting with cackling laughter, Sliske countered, "Ally? Oh Zammy dear, I fear I have misled you. You know better than to think me so… unambitious. You may have reached the Stone, yes. It was truly amusing to watch your minions play my games. But to believe it is in your possession? Well…"

"I've already drawn power from it, regardless of your empty words," Zamorak replied. "Even now my energy increases. It's about time I finally shut you up for good."

"Ah yes, you can feel the energy coursing through your veins. You are addicted, just like Saradomin is, just like Lucien was," Sliske raised his eyebrows, his tone lighter as he finished, "And now I am too."

Crinkling his brow, Jahaan had been silent thus far, watching the events unfold with baited breath, but finally he piped up, "What do you mean 'addicted'?"

Sliske turned slightly towards Jahaan, keeping one beady yellow iris on Zamorak at all times. "Can't you see? Everyone who has ever touched the Stone has sacrificed everything in order to keep it in their grasp. The energy withheld in the Stone is not from this world, and the feeling of absorbing it is incomparable. I am not so clouded by pride that I would deceive myself."

"You speak only of your own addiction," Zamorak declared, "The Stone is nothing but a tool, a necessity if I am to free this world from the other gods."

"Fool yourself all you like, Zamorak," Sliske's wicked, all-knowing smirk was back. "I know the truth."

Considering this, Jahaan evaluated the feeling he had when he touched the Stone, and easily could see how one would become addicted to such an immense feeling of power. Then again, he already felt the power depleting oh-so quickly, and with it, his lust for the Stone did not remain. Hesitantly, he asked, "What about me? I touched the Stone after all."

"Hmm… It would seem being the World Guardian is a double-edged sword," Sliske replied. "You may not be harmed by the gods, but you are also unable to absorb divine energy. Good old Guthix gave you a blessing - and a curse. You do seem to be quite handy at channeling the Stone's power temporarily, though. Addiction may not be your downfall, no, but power so often corrupts the heart and mind."

"Enough of this chatter," Zamorak hissed, a small storm brewing around his palms. "You're done here, Sliske. And I mean for good."

Finally, Sliske's calm demeanour dropped, and he looked slightly worried now. Jahaan could have sworn he saw the Mahjarrat gulp. From the corner of his eyes, Sliske locked his glare onto Jahaan, his tone absent of all joviality as he stated, "Jahaan, I have afforded you the opportunity to influence history. Choose wisely."

The gravity of Sliske's words sunk in instantly. He saw Zamorak begin to channel a spell, and Sliske just standing there, waiting, somewhat nervously. _Why isn't he moving?! Why isn't he trying to defend himself?!_

It was like the world was moving in slow motion, like everything was underwater.

Jahaan thought the choice was obvious. He had some of the Stone's energy inside him still, and if he helped channel a spell at Sliske alongside Zamorak, then perhaps it would mean an end to all his games, his charades, his war and insanity. The shadow that had loomed over Jahaan's life for so long would be gone, and he'd be free from the wretched puppeteer.

But as quickly as those thoughts crossed his mind, so did their counterparts. _Should Zamorak really have the Stone? And it wouldn't just be him having that power, it'd be all his followers. Zemouregal, Khazard and Enakhra… all of them would have even more power and influence over this world. One of them would be bound to follow in Lucien's power-hungry footsteps. And I'd also be making enemies of Azzanadra, Wahisietel and Zaros… ah, FUCK._

Not allowing himself to think twice, Jahaan fought back his hesitation and channelled all the remaining power within him.

Just as Zamorak was about to strike, Jahaan cut in, hurling elder energy into the deity's chest. It winded him, but didn't have a lasting effect. Confused, Zamorak's betrayed and fiery glare settled upon Jahaan, and he readied a retaliatory strike. Edging backwards, Jahaan suddenly regretted all of his life choices. Luckily, before Zamorak could strike, he was yanked into the Shadow Realm and teleported away.

When Jahaan opened his eyes, he recognised the blurry outline of the Empyrean Citadel wavering around him, cloaked in shadow and mist. The Stone, too, was beside him. As he caught his breath and tried to still his rapid heartbeat, Sliske's laughter echoed around him.

"Good show, Janny! You really did leave it until the most dramatic moment to upstage poor old Zammy. Needed a little help from yours truly, of course, but impressive nonetheless."

Jahaan looked up and into the smirking, smug face of Sliske, and again regretted his life choices. "I didn't do it for you. I didn't want the Zamorakians having the Stone. Better the devil you know than the devil you don't."

"Ignoring that hurtful remark," Sliske grinned. "I must know - what did Zammy offer you to become his lackey, hm?"

Too tired to think of a suitable rebuttal, Jahaan just sighed, taking a seat on one of the statue plinths. His eyes wandered about the Citadel. "He didn't offer me anything. I liked his ideology; it makes a lot of sense, it's practical... I didn't mind going along for the ride, for a while. But I guess I can strike Zamorak off my Wintumber Festival card list…"

"Ah yes, Zamorak will certainly regret bringing you along," Sliske smiled wryly. "Now, I have much to do, and as much as I enjoy your company, I think it's time we parted ways. Do enjoy the scenery up here, though. I often admire the sunrise from such a view."

Sliske placed a gloved palm atop Jahaan's shoulder as he said, "Until the next time, darling…"

Within a blink, Jahaan was back in the material realm. It took his eyes a minute to adjust to the blinding sunlight that was pouring into the Empyrean Citadel.

Peering over the edge into the clouds below, Jahaan rolled his eyes. _Fantastic. Couldn't have transported me anywhere more convenient, Sliske?_

Luckily, he remembered the invitation box he'd kept after Sliske's ascendency ceremony and hurriedly removed it from his backpack. With a deep exhale, he readied himself, opened the box, and was whisked away to the forest north of Ardougne.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	31. Quest 08: Mark of Zemouregal (Ch1)

**Quest 08: Mark of Zemouregal**

**Chapter 1 - Everlasting Fire**

Because of Jahaan's betrayal of Zamorak during their heist of the Stone of Jas, Zemouregal takes the matter of revenge into his own hands. When Jahaan looks to get even, he enlists the help of his Mahjarrat allies to take the fight to Zemouregal…

* * *

Jahaan trudged for a while before he reached civilisation again. He wasn't sure he wanted to risk Ardougne, not just because of what happened last time, but a few Zamorakian Mahjarrat had their strongholds nearby, and considering his role in the heist, he figured he wasn't the most popular man alive right now. He also had to avoid the Legends' Guild because, well, reasons. So, accepting that the people he'd probably pissed off the least were the Guthixians, Jahaan made for Seers' Village, deciding to stay there for the foreseeable future. Acquiring some papyrus and a quill pen, the first thing Jahaan did after placing his order at the town's largest tavern was to write to Ozan, telling him in brief the events that had unfolded, and asked if he was near enough to Seers' Village to stop by for the tale in full, along with a hearty meal. Once Postie Pete came around the next morning, Jahaan made polite conversation with the decapitated skull pulling along a parcel sack on wheels. Postie Pete had seen and done it all, and if you could catch him for long enough, he was a delight to chat to.

However, he never explained the story behind just how he became Gielinor's resident postman with nothing more than a skull and cart to his name. But hey, he got the job done. In fact, the very next morning Jahaan received a reply from Ozan, saying he was just leaving Catherby and would stop by in a few days on his way to the Fremennik Province.

During the days in between, Jahaan bumbled about the town, looking in all the quaint little shops and taking a somewhat tourist-y trip up to Camelot Castle, feeling rather embarrassed with himself after gleefully grinning like an idiot when he saw Sir Bedivere walking across the courtyard.

When Ozan arrived, Jahaan regailed him with tales of the heist of the Stone of Jas, enrapturing him and the entirety of the local tavern at the same time. Taking a leaf out of Ozan's book, he used his storytelling ability to keep their plates and cups full to the brim for days on end.

He didn't notice the one man in the back, listening on with concerned surprise, before making a subtle exit.

The next day, he was still so overjoyed with retelling his story to the new patrons, and even the old ones who came back to hear wild stories of Mahjarrat and Zamorakian fortresses, that he didn't even notice the headlines in the Seers Weekly publication that talked of an assassination in Falador park, details to come after the investigation is completed, with no suspects at present.

No, Jahaan was quite enjoying his time in Seers' Village with his best friend at his side.

But all good things…

Jahaan had slept soundly in that rather comfy bed every night he'd been there. This night, however, he was oddly awoken by a weird sensation - that of moisture around his hand. Groggily, he opened his eyes, ready to figure out how his beer had gotten onto the pillow.

Staring back at him were eyes, bloodshot and lifeless, inside a head with skin as white as the sheets had once been. The face was old and shrivelled, wrinkled before all the life had been sucked from it. Jahaan shot upwards, scrambling backwards until his hand landed upon something solid, yet squishy. Warm, yet deathly cold.

Lit up by the pale light of the moon, his eyes landed upon them.

Two decapitated heads.

He recognised them both, despite the warped contortions death had brought to their features. He wished he didn't recognise them, but oh gods he did…

Sir Tiffy Cashien and Thaerisk Cephire.

Panting heavily, desperately fighting back the urge to vomit, Jahaan's shaky hand made for the dagger that was usually on his bedside table, but it was gone.

"Looking for this?" a voice rose from the shadows, full of teeth and menace, holding a runite dagger. Jahaan was too terrified to move, completely frozen in place between the severed skulls around him.

The figure moved into the light from the moon, an incredibly tall and bulky figure with ashen skin, covered in a combination of armour and robes.

"Zemouregal," Jahaan had wanted to sound a lot more fearsome than he did, but it came out more like a stutter.

"In person," he snarled, twirling the small blade around his fingers.

Jahaan's eyes darted to where his armour and swords were piled up in the corner, closer to him than Zemouregal was, but that little look betrayed him, and when he went to move, he found himself ensnared in pulsing black and purple binds. Hissing in the pain they inflicted, tightening his arms to his sides, Jahaan was rendered immobile by the simple spell.

"Do you like the gifts I brought you?" Zemouregal sauntered closer to the edge of the bed, malice layered inside his smugness. "I put a lot of thought into them."

Jahaan's eyes burned through Zemouregal like fire.

Fire, like…

_What a second, what's that smell? _

Jahaan's nose started to twinge at the foreign, invading odour seeping into the room, pungent and clogging. Once it finally reached his throat, it scraped downwards, drying his throat out instantly.

Panicked eyes darted back at Zemouregal; he struggled in his binds.

Laughing maliciously, Zemouregal snapped Jahaan back to unwavering attention by throwing the knife into the headboard beside him, splitting the wood on impact, only an inch from his ear.

"I'd say it's not worth fighting, but by all means, continue. It's fun to watch you squirm," Zemouregal's dry lips cracked into a sneer. "After all, I won't get to enjoy your suffering for that much longer. It'll be sweet while it lasts."

"What the fuck is your trauma?!" Jahaan bellowed, sweating already from the intense heat. To himself, he racked his brain, wondering, _How the hell had this not woken me up before?_

"You really have to ask?" Zemouregal spat in return. "Did you really think betraying Zamorak would go unpunished?"

"Please, if this was Zamorak's doing, he'd want to kill me himself! This is all YOU, isn't it?"

His grin widening, Zemouregal replied, "You're a sharp one. Your insolence has rather started to grate on me. I'll be doing Zamorak a favour by ridding the world of you."

Struggling once more, Jahaan knew there was no escaping this hold, not while Zemouregal was in the vicinity. Desperate, Jahaan tried a new approach. "So what, you're not even going to finish me yourself? Too scared I'll beat you - _again_?"

From the flash in Zemouregal's eyes, it looked as if Jahaan had succeeded in striking a nerve. _If I just get him to release me, to fight me, I might stand a chance_

However, once Zemouregal's malevolent smile returned, Jahaan knew his approach had failed. "Nice try, but a quick death just isn't as much fun. So as every fibre of your skin is being melted away, slowly and agonisingly, know this - this is of your own doing, World Guardian. The deaths of the knight and the druid are on you. The death of your close friend, the dark skinned one you entered with, is on you. He's still here, by the way. My spy managed to slip something even stronger onto his beverage, double the dose of yours. It would have knocked him out for the night, but he'll wake up once the flames reach him. Now you'll be able to hear his screams as he _burns_."

The crackling of the flames was now much louder, thumping in time to Jahaan's heartbeat. Hearing the impending inferno beating against the door, Zemouregal looked satisfied. "I guess this is goodbye, World Guardian."

With that, he was gone.

Jahaan assumed the restraints would vanish alongside Zemouregal, but their hold remained, cutting into his sweating flesh like wires. Writhing and twisting with all his strength, Jahaan tried to wriggle free, to break the binds, to escape… but it wasn't to be.

The heat was unbearable; the fire had yet to break through the door, though it was only a matter of time.

He had no runes to teleport out of the binds, and no weapon that would cut through them.

Jahaan didn't want to resign himself to the fact that this was going to be his end, that he was going to die screaming, helpless, and by Zemouregal's hand.

_By Guthix, Tumeken, Saradomin, Zamorak, Seren, Zaros - SOMEONE help me!_ Jahaan internally pleaded, knowing that if any time was the right time to start praying, it was now. Then, like a lightning bolt, it struck him - prayers! Not in the conventional praying to a deity sense, but _curses_. Zarosian curses, to be specific. Jahaan's bedtime reading since the Mahjarrat Ritual had included Infernal language books, Senntisten history tomes, and texts about the Zarosian religion. The latter talked about curses, a Zarosian practice that were a hybrid of conventional spells and combative prayers, things that warpriests were mainly skilled in. They didn't require runes, and they could be performed by anyone against an enemy of Zaros.

Considering Zemouregal was Zamorakian, Jahaan figured he stood a chance.

Trying to reduce his panicking, Jahaan worked to calm his breathing and clear his mind, focusing on remembering how to chant went.

"_A gentes cervarum's non habere, Zaros liberabo te fidelis…" _Jahaan mumbled to himself, growing in fervor as his urgency rose, "_A gentes cervarum's non habere, Zaros liberabo te fidelis!"_

_Come on Zaros, I know I'm not a Zarosian but you fucking owe me one!_ He internally added, sweat dripping from his brow as he continued aloud, "_A gentes cervarum's non habere, Zaros liberabo te fidelis! A gentes cervarum's non habere, Zaros liberabo te fidelis! A GENTES CERVARUM'S NON HABERE, ZAROS LIBERABO TE FIDELIS!"_

Suddenly, miraculously, the binds shattered. Panting in unbelievably relief, Jahaan wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes, shaking violently. Gasping in a lungful of thick, smoky air, he scrambled to his feet, unfortunately unable to forget that he was covered in the blood of his friends. Desperately, he tried to fight past it, snatching the dagger out of the headboard and scooping up his bag on the way to the door. The handle, conductive to heat, was beyond scalding to the touch. Fortunately, the door was weak from the battering of flames, and Jahaan broke through by throwing his shoulder against the less-than-sturdy oak. Pulling his shirt over his nose and mouth, Jahaan managed to at least somewhat protect himself from the escaping cloud.

Once he opened his eyes and tried to readjust to the imparied vision, he saw the extent of Zemouregal's damage.

It looked as if the world was on fire.

Jahaan watched the deep flames of the enraged inferno through blurry eyes.

_What of the other residents? _he allowed himself a fleeting thought, one that sunk his soul. He hoped - no, _prayed _\- that they had all escaped. _Perhaps they had gotten more of a warning? Perhaps they could escape through their windows?_

Shaking his head clear, Jahaan tried to focus, not wanting to dwell on the horror for too long as he made his way to Ozan's room at the end of the hall. Jahaan tried to call out his name, but the ensuing inhalation of smoke caused him to collapse to his knees, a coughing and spluttering mess.

Like his own door, this one was weak too, and he managed to kick his way through.

Inside, every wall was crawling with a furious red heat, scalding with flames. Thick smoke engulfed every ounce of sweet air and replaced it with a heavy, suffocating blanket of pungent smog.

And in the centre of it all, Ozan.

He looked so helpless, laid out on the bed. So peaceful, the only still thing inside this inferno.

_Deathly still,_ Jahaan's mind stabbed at him, _Why hasn't he woken up? Has the smoke... _

He refused to let the thought overcome him, refused to let it be true. Stepping over the smouldering remains of the bookcase, Jahaan tried to fight past the violent heat and towards his friend. He could barely see anything past the flickers of orange among a sea of grey and black, but once he'd set his eyes on the murky outline of Ozan, he refused to let them waver.

Tingling heat pricked at his bare skin like daggers, relentlessly. The temperature was unbearable, but he pushed forward, driven by adrenaline alone, careful to keep to the centre of the floor and away from the scorching orange embers on the walls.

The bed was quickly growing in flames, and they'd started crawling across Ozan's clothes, charring the skin underneath.

A loud crash came from behind them; darting around, Jahaan looked on in horror as the southern wall - where the door was - had started to cave in, and the floor was looking like it was the next in line to go.

That only left the window, but it was a straight drop down three stories onto concrete pavement. While Jahaan might, MIGHT survive the fall, in his condition, Ozan would not.

Seeds of helplessness started to sow themselves, nurtured by desperation.

_Why don't I carry runes?_ Jahaan internally whimpered, regretting his near-hatred of magic for all these years. _If I could just teleport out, I could-_

Suddenly, it hit him. Quickly, he removed his backpack and scrambled through it until he pulled out the tiny invitation box he'd acquired all that time ago. Not wasting another second, Jahaan firmly grabbed onto Ozan's arm and, with his free hand, pried open the lid of the box, feeling them both get whisked away...

Jahaan and Ozan collapsed onto the relievingly cold marble of the Empyrean Citadel chamber, the former coughing up a lung in the process. Wiping the soot from around his eyes, he hurried to toss his backpack aside and check on Ozan, who still hadn't regained consciousness.

Putting his ear close to his mouth, he tried to listen for any signs of life, but there weren't any. Shaking him didn't help, nor did shouting his name. Luckily, Jahaan remembered the resuscitation training he'd received in the Imperial Guard, and set to work on chest compressions, counting back from thirty. This was followed swiftly by rescue breaths, two short and sharp exhalations into Ozan's mouth. He repeated this process a handful more times until finally, mercifully, Ozan spluttered to life with a series of coughs.

Letting out the most tensed, shakiest breath he'd ever held, Jahaan felt tears of relief trickle down his face.

_Thanks for letting him stay, Icthlarin,_ Jahaan whispered internally to himself, getting out his waterskin and knife from his backpack. Gently, he helped Ozan take small sips to clear the dust from his throat. The man tried to speak, but it only resulted in a dozen more coughs.

"Take this and don't talk," Jahaan instructed. Ozan was in no position to argue.

While Ozan dozily held onto the waterskin, Jahaan carefully cut the burned and charred clothing from around Ozan's more severe burns, seeing as most of it had already fused to the skin and couldn't be treated just yet. When he heard the waterskin drop, Jahaan saw that Ozan was shaking, severely. Fighting back the poisonous worry, he helped lay Ozan down flat on the cool citadel floor, using his backpack to try and elevate his feet somewhat. With the discarded, yet still almost full waterskin, Jahaan tried to rinse clean some of Ozan's burns, causing the man to jolt and shudder with the contact. Wincing through it, Jahaan continued until the waterskin was nearly empty, saving just enough in case Ozan needed a drink later. Feeling the aching dryness in the back of his throat, Jahaan fought the urge to take a gulp for himself. Ozan needed it more.

Jahaan didn't notice the sun start to rise, but being so high up in the clouds, once he clocked onto it, he could get a magnificent view. Ozan was sleeping now, uncomfortable and charred and ragged on the citadel floor, but sleep was the only cure for his injuries right now. Jahaan couldn't leave him up here without treatment for long, but he couldn't bring him back down to Gielinor's surface. For all he was aware, Zemouregal assumed them both dead, and as long as the wicked Mahjarrat kept thinking that way, they were safe from him trying to finish the job.

No, until Ozan was able to stand - gods know how long that would take - they would remain in the safety of the skies. The invitation box would plant them right in the centre of the clearing north of Ardougne, a town with guilds and medical supplies that could potentially aid them.

It was also the closest town to Hazeel's hideout and Khazard's territory, making the large city home to who-knows how many spies and soldiers loyal to the Zamorakian Mahjarrat.

_What if they had sent word out about me? What if the word got back to Zemouregal?_

It was these thoughts that helped focus part of his mind on something other than his wounded, half-dying best friend lying beside him. These worries kept him sane, and they kept the anger bubbling up. Jahaan did not resent this - subconsciously, he _welcomed _it. That hate he'd felt for Lucien for so long, the longing to slit his throat and watch the blood drain from his eyes, to see him torn apart by a pack of hungry hellhounds, to see his head caved in by a crude hammer...

...now all that was redirecting itself at Zemouregal, and it made him feel _alive_. The skin on his arms and hands fizzed with nervous energy, and his breathing was ragged and out of sync. It was exactly how he felt before he cut down that knight outside of Al Kharid, where everything inside of him coiled up and spat out this violence, this hatred, this blind and murderous rage.

He'd felt like this many times before, and Ozan was one of the few that could help him control it. After the murder of Guthix, Jahaan knew that his wires were frayed, and when he finally snapped, Ozan was the only one that could calm him down, that could bring him back to earth.

He needed to get to Zemouregal before the element of surprise was over, before the Mahjarrat realised the two of them escaped alive, albeit barely. He'd find him, and however he damn well could, whether it was by a sword, axe, arrow or his bare hands, he'd kill him.

"I'll fucking kill him," Jahaan muttered under his breath, repeatedly, his teeth chattering as his pulse started to race.

Due to his frayed nerves, teetering his sanity on a knife's edge, as soon as Jahaan heard the whisper of a teleport spell enter the citadel, he slashed his dagger from his belt and shot up from Ozan's side, ready for war.

However, when it was Sliske who walked into the chamber, he managed to relax his stance, though only slightly.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped.

"I could ask you the same question now, couldn't I?" Sliske returned, sauntering closer. His eyes conveyed something unfamiliar to Jahaan. Something that combined curiosity with apprehension. Something almost akin to _worry_. "I told you, I like to come here to watch the sunrise. But what are you doing here? What happened to you, and-" his eyes fell to Ozan, and his tone was a lot more stern when he demanded, "What happened, World Guardian?"

Sheathing his dagger, Jahaan replied through gritted teeth. "Your Mahjarrat friend, Zemouragal, happened. Apparently he didn't take too kindly to me siding with you over Zamorak."

Sliske let out a tight exhale, muttering something in a harsh vocabulary that hurt Jahaan's ears. Turning back to Jahaan, he asked again, slowly, "What happened, World Guardian? Tell me everything."

That was all Jahaan needed to unleash everything that had transpired in the short evening that felt like a lifetime. How he woke up next to the severed heads of Sir Tiffy and Thaerisk, with Zemouregal looming over the edge of his bed; how the Mahjarrat had set fire to the inn, causing the flames to engulf the building at an unprecedented rate; how he and Ozan barely escaped with their lives thanks to the invitation box Jahaan had held onto and, finally, how Zemouregal was going to _pay_.

Once he'd finished his heated rant, through which Sliske had listened patiently, not reacting much at all, Jahaan felt breathless. Panting, he didn't even notice just how red in the face he'd gotten, or how the vein in his forehead had started to bulge. After a few short breaths, Jahaan looked straight into Sliske's yellow irises and demanded, "I need you to teleport me to Zemouregal's fortress."

Sliske blinked. "Come again?"

"Teleport me to the fortress, NOW," Jahaan barked, his teeth chattering again.

"Yes… no I'm not doing that."

"I'm going to kill him, Sliske, and all I need is a teleport," Jahaan felt sick with impatience, his nerve-endings alive with electricity.

Again, Sliske refused. "A teleport to your demise? I don't think so."

Throwing his backpack over his shoulder, Jahaan declared, "Fine. I'LL FUCKING WALK."

Blocking Jahaan's path to the scattered invitation box, Sliske said, "Hey now, you only best Zemmy once and, if you're being honest with yourself, that was a fluke. If you give him home turf, well... if the cold and the bandits don't kill you, his undead army will finish you off before you even reach him. And besides, you've lost your armour and your weaponry - are you really going to try and murder a Mahjarrat with that little butterknife? Think this through."

Admittedly, Jahaan began to hesitate, gravity slowly clawing him back down to the ground.

It was only when Sliske added, "And besides, what of Ozan? You really expect me to babysit him while you get yourself killed?" that Jahaan finally tossed his bag back down to the floor and dropped to his knees.

Gravity had brought him down, and now it was suffocating him. Gazing over at Ozan's near-lifeless body, the nausea churning in the pit of Jahaan's stomach caused him to wretch, but he swallowed it down. His head was spinning at a rate of knots, the lump in his throat choking him. One by one, tears started streaming down his cheeks, but he didn't even bother to wipe them away. The salt stung, but he held his eyes on Ozan.

His disjointed, weighted thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, Sliske had those very same eyes again, ones of sympathy - a state of mind that Jahaan didn't know Mahjarrat were even capable of, least of all Sliske.

"Come with me," he said, quietly, offering Jahaan a hand to help him up.

Taking it, Jahaan dazedly began, "B-But what about…"

"In his condition, Ozan will sleep for hours. I'll hide him in the Shadow Realm," Sliske assured, "Zemouregal won't be able to find him. Don't worry."

Sliske knelt down beside Ozan and placed a hand on his chest. Then, with a wave of his other hand, Ozan was wrapped in shadows and mist, and when it cleared, he was gone.

Holding out his hand again, Sliske repeated, "Come with me."

"Where are we going?" Jahaan managed to ask, hesitantly holding out his arm.

A small smile crept into the corners of Sliske's lips, but for once, it bore no malice. "I don't get to say this and mean it often, but trust me, Jahaan."

And you know what? Jahaan did.

He took Sliske's hand, and they were whisked away.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	32. Quest 08: Mark of Zemouregal (Ch2)

**Quest 08: Mark of Zemouregal**

**Chapter 2 - Eye for an Eye**

Because of Jahaan's betrayal of Zamorak during their heist of the Stone of Jas, Zemouregal takes the matter of revenge into his own hands. When Jahaan looks to get even, he enlists the help of his Mahjarrat allies to take the fight to Zemouregal…

* * *

Ahh, Prifddinas. The greatest city of the elves. Nay, the greatest settlement in all of Gielinor! Since hearing the tales of a crystal empire as a child, Jahaan had always wanted to visit. However, they didn't let just anyone in, and their seclusion was part of why they'd survived since the First Age without external conflict. Throughout the God Wars the elves protected themselves by erecting massive granite walls across their eastern border, refusing to involve themselves in the conflicts of the other gods, as was their goddess' intention. The aforementioned goddess? Seren, a name spoken in curiosity among the other races of Gielinor. Nobody really knew too much about the origins of the crystalline goddess, only that she brought the elves from their homeworld of Tarddiad. The legend goes that Seren became mesmerised by the elves and their way of living, and upon seeing one of them die of age, was overcome with such great sorrow that she tried to use her godly powers to extend their lifespan. However, in doing so, she accidentally tied them to her, causing them to grow ill and perish when out of her presence for too long. Thus, when Guthix's Edicts required Seren to depart, she shattered herself into a million crystal fragments so that a part of her would always be with her elves. At some point towards the end of the Fifth Age, Seren had been reformed, and lived among her elves once more. At some point during its history, tales claim that Prifddinas had somehow, miraculously, reverted to the size of a single crystal seed. Yes, the largest settlement in all of Gielinor had shrunk to the size of an acorn, with the residents inside frozen in time. To top it all off, the legend claims that the elders of Prifddinas sung the city back to life.

Whether that was true or not, Jahaan was very skeptical. The saying goes that stranger things have happened, but, really, _have they?_

But when Jahaan emerged on a tall hilltop, surrounded by luscious forests and looking down over the crystal walls of the city, elven history was the furthest thing from his mind.

He'd never seen such shades of green before. Not murky likes the swamps of Morytania, not artificial like how greenery in Falador felt, not tainted like the plant life in Canifis and Draynor. Even the gnomes couldn't lay claim to such a brilliant shade of nature's favourite colour; this was what the elder gods had intended when they wove forests out of the anima. But the only thing more brilliant than the shades of nature were the crystals, shining like diamonds in the glow of the morning sun.

The entire city was constructed from these crystals, a substitute from the bulky wood and crude stone seen across most of Gielinor. The craftsmanship, the way the crystal bends to the will of the architect… Jahaan didn't know enough about Prifddinas to know how the city was built from these crystals, or where they came from, and one day he hoped to find out, just as he hoped to walk through the city gates and up to the Tower of Voices, rumoured to be one of the tallest structures in all of Gielinor. Considering how it reached up into the heavens even from this distance, Jahaan could clearly see the rumours had some merit.

It was rare to see elves outside of Prifddinas. After all, why would they ever need to leave? Everything one could ever need was inside those crystal walls, from banks to bars, sawmills to staff shops, altars to anvils. It was a compact Gielinor. There were elves roaming the territory just outside of their walls; there had been a civil war among them not too long before Prifddinas' supposed 'restoration' and smaller factions were still camped out south of the border. Alongside this, their were whisperings about elves in West Ardougne, and they were grave tales indeed. Talks of death guards, a fake plague, regicide and the intended mass killing of all of West Ardougne's residents in order to summon a 'dark lord'.

The thought of it made Jahaan's head spin and his stomach churn.

So little is known about the elves, it's hard to know what to believe. That's why Jahaan wanted to go to Prifddinas, to search for information that his people in the Khandarin Desert had never concerned themselves with, being at opposite ends of the world and all.

This is the closest he'd ever come to the elven city, and after taking just a brief view from the hilltop, he never wanted to leave.

"Whoa…" was all he said, exhaling a shaky breath.

"Do you like it?" Sliske asked, but he knew it was a rhetorical question. Shifting his robe out of the way, he took a seat on the thick grass below. "This is about as close as, ah, someone like _me _can get without entering into the Shadow Realm, but it's still quite a view."

"Yeah, I do like it," Jahaan's eyes were transfixed on the crystal city as he took a seat beside the Mahjarrat. There was a peace inside him he hadn't felt in hours, a respite from the anguish and worry. "I like it a lot."

The two stared at the horizon for what felt like an eon, enjoying the serenity of the sunrise as it crept over the crystals in the distance.

Finally, it was Sliske who broke their content silence. Smiling without humour, he quietly whispered, more to himself than to Jahaan, "It must be nice, knowing there will always be a world after this one."

"Huh?" Jahaan didn't quite hear that.

"I said, it must be nice, living in a place like that," he 'repeated', nodding his head towards Prifddinas with a wistful expression.

Jahaan didn't completely believe that's what he said, but he didn't press it further. There was a peacefulness between the two of them, and Jahaan didn't want to be the one to ruin it. Instead, he moved slightly closer to Sliske, and didn't shy away when the Mahjarrat wrapped a warm, protective arm around him, pulling him softly against his chest.

It was the first time he'd felt at peace for a long while.

The two of them remained in quiet contemplation after that. Jahaan spent too much of it wondering what was going through the Mahjarrat's mind. Sliske was an enigma, a puzzle to him, the quiet and the storm, but moreover, he was one thing Jahaan was becoming less and less reluctant to admit…

_He's not as bad as he seemed._

Jahaan began to struggle to remember why he hated the Mahjarrat in the first place. He didn't particularly want to remember. He had enough enemies, enough Mahjarrat enemies at that, to actively _want _another one.

Suddenly, his throat began to sour and the calmness inside his mind began to cloud.

_Zemouregal._

The storm in his head was brewing once more, manifesting as a knot in his stomach and a lump in his throat.

"I want him dead, Sliske," Jahaan's voice was grave; he didn't need to say who he meant. "I want him dead, and I won't wait five hundred years for it to happen."

The Mahjarrat kept looking towards Prifddinas as he said, "You're not the only one that wants him gone, you know. I can help you... but at a cost."

Jahaan didn't blink. "Name your price."

"I want your soul."

_Now _Jahaan blinked. "E-Excuse me?"

"I want your soul," Sliske repeated, returning his gaze to Jahaan.

"Why? Do you want to… to make me a wight?" Jahaan shook his head in unnerved disbelief.

Quickly, Sliske replied, "Asking questions isn't part of the deal. You accept unconditionally, or you don't accept my help at all."

Jahaan thought for a long, hard moment, challenging Sliske's satisfied expression. Finally, he declared, "If you help me kill him, you can have whatever the hell you want."

And so it was settled. They were going to kill Zemouregal. Not just the two of them, mind - Sliske stated that it wouldn't be too hard to persuade Azzanadra and Wahisietel to eliminate the threat he poses once and for all. Just by being a Zamorakian, Azzanadra already had skin in the game. Wahisietel might take a little bit more convincing, and Jahaan offered to talk to him while Sliske went to Azzanadra. Knowing the strained relationship between the two brothers, Jahaan knew he stood a better chance than Sliske did at enlisting Wahisietel to their cause.

Firstly, however, Jahaan had to get Ozan somewhere more permanent to recuperate. The poor man was still sound asleep, comatose, but at least he was alive.

"Do you have anyone you trust he can stay with? Anyone that can protect him?" Sliske inquired.

"You mean, do I know anyone capable of fending of a Mahjarrat?" Jahaan shook his head. "No."

"They shouldn't have to fight off Zemmy," Sliske assured. "He thinks you're dead, remember? And one of the upsides of being dead is that no-one comes looking for you. So as long as you don't parade him in Varrock Square, he should be safe."

Considering this, Jahaan replied, "In that case, I know where he can go."

Jahaan emerged just in front of the bridge connecting Draynor to the Wizards' Tower, dropping to his knees and sending Ozan tumbling to the ground upon landing. Sliske hadn't stuck around long enough to ensure a smooth landing, it seemed. Groaning in pain, Jahaan quickly realised that once the adrenaline had worn off, he was in no fit shape. Wincing with a silent apology to Ozan, he tested out his legs again before picking up his friend and carrying him over the bridge.

It didn't take long for the Wizards' to allow Jahaan inside, seeing the state of the poor man he was holding. The wizards were well acquainted with Ozan by this point, and Jahaan had met a fair few of them on his travels too.

Ushered into the medical bay, Ozan was set down on one of the cots as someone went to find Ariane. It didn't take long for her to make it down, rushing to Ozan's side with her heart in her throat. "What happened to him?"

Gulping, Jahaan stammered as he explained, "T-There was a fire… I w-was attacked, and he was d-drugged, and…"

Trailing off, Jahaan's head was so foggy he honestly had no idea where to begin; he felt like he was trapped inside an awful dream, the edges of the world blurry and faded. Reality was far too much to handle.

"You were attacked? So it was arson..." when Ariane turned to Jahaan, the man noted her eyes were much more accusational than concerned, and he was taken aback, especially as she was quick to demand, "What have you got him mixed up in this time?"

Mouth hung agape, Jahaan took a few paces back, his wide eyes held captive by her glare. "W-What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Jahaan," Ariane snapped, the soothing hand she wrapped inside Ozan's lifeless ones juxtaposed harshly with her seething tone, though she tried to keep her voice down to a quiet hiss. "You're a picture of guilt. Let me guess, you ticked off the wrong people and they came back for revenge. Only this time, Ozan was collateral damage. Ozan told me about the company you've been keeping; was it the same Mahjarrat who killed Guthix that did this to him?"

"N-No… I mean, yes it was a Mahjarrat, but not the same one," Jahaan stated, nervously rubbing the back of his head, injured from each of Ariane's cutting words that felt as if they were closing in around his throat. "Yes, this is all my fault. But I'm going to make it right."

"Make it right?" Ariane replied with incredulation. "You're only liable to make things worse! Why Guthix ever chose you as-"

She cut herself off there, taking a long breath to calm herself. Even Ariane looked slightly regretful at where her words were leading her.

The sentiment, however, had already stung, and Jahaan had no words to say.

Despite mutually knowing each other for years through Ozan, Jahaan had always gotten the impression that Ariane had never taken to him. Occasionally he'd ask Ozan if this were the case, and he'd laugh and deny it, saying it was all in Jahaan's head. But deep down, he always knew, and now he had confirmation.

Sighing heavily, Ariane continued, in a much lower and measured voice this time, "We'll heal him as much as we can and keep him safe. When he's awake, you can come and visit him. After that, I don't want you seeing Ozan ever again."

Jahaan used the invitation box to make his way back to the Empyrean Citadel. He needed time to deliberate his encounter with Ariane, but now wasn't the moment. Work had to be done, and the more time he wasted, the more likely Zemouregal would find out he was alive, and thus the element of surprise would be lost.

Sliske had offered to teleport Jahaan to Nardah in order to avoid the magic carpet debacle again, something for which Jahaan was incredibly grateful. He didn't think his head could take another round of motion sickness.

The dust settled, and Jahaan was back in Nardah. Well, about half a mile outside Nardah; Sliske didn't think a Mahjarrat springing into their town centre would go down well for anyone, except for the pitchfork selling business.

Trudging through the sand, Jahaan was almost thankful his armour had been destroyed, but less thankful that he hadn't refilled his waterskin, making a mental note to do that when he got to the town's fountain.

When he reached Ali the Wise's house, he barely had to knock before the door was thrown open, stern and suspicious eyes darting past Jahaan and into the distance. "Come inside," he ushered, quickly, taking one last look behind him before he closed the door.

"What's the matter?" Jahaan inquired, puzzled.

"Sliske was nearby," Wahisietel stated. "I felt his presence. Thought you might be him at my door."

"I think he's got a few inches on me, can't see how you could mistake us," Jahaan chuckled.

Wahisietel furrowed his brow as Jahaan's relaxed demeanour. "Are you not concerned? It was you who came here to escape him not that long ago."

"Sliske brought me here," Jahaan explained, smiling at the reaction it brought to the disguised Mahjarrat's face. "Don't worry, I'll tell you everything. You might wanna sit down for this one…"

While Jahaan conversed with Wahisietel, Sliske went to go convince Azzanadra to join their plight. He slipped off his disguise as soon as he entered the Temple at what used to be Senntisten. Azzanadra, having sensed his arrival, was pensively waiting at the other end of the chamber, nearest the altar.

"Sliske," he gruffly greeted, folding his arms over his chest. "You have got quite the nerve to be showing your face around here after your excommunication."

"Ah yes, well," Sliske clapped his hands together. "I was hoping we might be able to sweep that one under the rug, for now at least. I have a proposition for you. One I think you'd rather enjoy..."

Wahisietel nearly spit the tea out from his mouth. "You're going to kill Zemouregal?!"

Hushing him, Jahaan hissed, "Why don't you shout a little louder, I don't think the barber in Falador heard you."

"My apologies, I just…" shaking his head, Wahisietel composed himself. "This is no small feat. Zemouregal is not to be brushed off lightly, as you know. While I do wish to see his head unattached from his shoulders, I-"

Looking down at Jahaan's expression, Wahisietel winced. "Apologies for my turn of phrase. Sir Tiffy Cashien was a noble knight, and Thaerisk Cemphier seemed like a good man, in the brief time I spent with them. I am truly sorry for your loss."

"Their loss has to be avenged," Jahaan resolved, gravely. "I know the risks, but I can't let them be murdered in vain. What would you do in my shoes?"

From the change of expression on his face, it appeared as if this was a turning point for Wahisietel. "It would be hypocritical of me to say I would act any differently. They may call me 'Ali the Wise' in these human lands, but I am still of the Mahjarrat. One thing that still sticks in my craw, though, is Sliske's involvement in it all. Why is he helping you?"

"He wants my soul," Jahaan replied as nonchalantly as possible, amused by the look of surprise that elicited from his Mahjarrat companion. "Obviously I'm not going to let that happen. Your brother is-"

"Half-brother."

"Your _half_-brother is… he's not as bad as you say he is, but even I have limits."

"I must ask, why do you defend him so?" Wahisietel inquired, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "He murdered Guthix in front of you, tricked you, betrayed you, lied to you, stalked you, and from what I've heard from Azzanadra, he's attacked you as well. I don't understand your loyalty. You know, you remind me of Azzanadra, but at least I can understand that one. Well, somewhat."

Crinkling his brow, Jahaan asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you see - and this stays strictly between us, you hear? - back in the Zarosian Empire, and even on Freneskae, Azzanadra and Sliske went through a period of being… close."

Jahaan blinked. "Close?"

"Close," Wahisietel reiterated, his hands conducting an invisible orchestra in front of him as his mind danced for the right words. "You humans might refer to it as a relationship."

Now it was Jahaan who nearly spit out his tea. "Sliske and Azzanadra were an item?!"

Jahaan didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and it seemed Wahisietel was struggling with the same dilemma as he replied, "I know, it's baffling why they'd waste their time on such things. But Azzanadra was the leader of the church, and Sliske was the leader of the secret police. No-one would dare speak out against them. On Freneskae, few were aware of their dynamic. Those that were kept silent, for they were outpowered. I understand Sliske's charm and charisma, things he used to his advantage whenever he was bored in Senntisten. Such a trivial past-time. People fell under his spell, and it was always their downfall. Even Zaros' most beloved pontifex could not escape."

Wahisietel returned to his tea. "After all these years, it still baffles me why Azzanadra resolves to trust Sliske, and now you're following his lead. Heh. As long as-"

Wahisietel froze, his cup glued to the tops of his lips, his eyes wide with realisation. Slowly, he raised his head and glared through Jahaan with a strange mix of confusion and abject horror. "Please, for Zaros' sake, please tell me I'm wrong…"

Jahaan winced, breaking contact with Wahisietel's eyes. It was all the confirmation he needed, yet the Mahjarrat pressed, "What did he do to you?"

"He didn't do anything," Jahaan assured, biting the inside of his lip. "He… he tried, but nothing happened. Believe me."

Wahisietel's unwavering glare bore holes through the man. "But you wanted to, didn't you?"

Jahaan's shameful inability to meet Wahisietel's gaze said everything that needed to be said.

The Mahjarrat mumbled something in infernal, rising to his feet as he paced the room. "I warned you about him, Jahaan. But I never knew that… never could have DREAMED that… that you would…"

Stopping to face Jahaan, he stated with unwavering assurance, "He does not harbour feelings. He is incapable. He just uses people for his own amusement, then he discards them when they stop being entertaining, or when they are no longer useful. I don't know what game he's playing with you, but he's playing a game, Jahaan!"

"Don't you think I know that?" Jahaan shot up, ever so slightly taller than Wahisietel when he was in his Ali form. "I know what he's like, Wahisietel - I've got first-hand fucking experience with that. But damnit, he's inside my head, always inside my head, and I can't take it!"

Suddenly, Jahaan whirled on the thing closest to him - a bookshelf - in order to expend the pent-up rage his outburst had summoned. Unfortunately, the books were a little less forgiving than Jahaan would have liked, and the thick novels put up a decent defence; Jahaan clutched his battered hand, the knuckles already forming a purple bruise, his fingers shaking and unable to move. "Gods, FUCK!" Jahaan cursed, turning back to Wahisietel with an indignant expression akin to, 'do you see what they did to me?!'. Muttering lowly, though with the slightest hint of an amused smile, Wahisietel went to get a medical kit.

A few bandages and another cup of tea later, Jahaan had calmed down, feeling rather embarrassed about his childish flare-up. Miraculously, nothing had fractured; Jahaan deduced he was too exhausted to give the punch all he had. That, or he just had a pathetically weak right hook, which he'd rather not be the case.

The silence that followed was awkward, each man lost in their own contemplation of the preceding events. Eventually, it was Wahisietel who broke the quiet, carefully beginning, "I have said my piece in regards to you and my half-brother. I trust that you know what you are doing."

"You shouldn't, because I don't even know what I'm doing," Jahaan sniffed a humourless laugh.

"I just wish I knew why he wanted my soul. I thought he wanted to make me a wight, but when I asked him, he deflected. I don't think that's the case, but why else would he want my soul?"

Stroking the beard his human form had adopted, Wahisietel replied, "Sliske has always been fascinated in souls. He used to talk to me about a Teragardian magister by the name of 'Oreb', who experimented with the power of souls and hypothesised that souls can be transferred from one body to another. This is the same magister who took in Nomad as his pupil, much later in life. Sliske was particularly interested in his theories."

"Why was that, do you reckon?"

"Well, for one, Mahjarrat don't _have _souls. Therefore, we cannot pass onto an afterlife, for a soul is required to do such a thing. For all his blustering, there is one thing Sliske fears: death."

Suddenly, it clicked into place, the phrase Jahaan thought he didn't quite hear outside of Prifddinas: '_It must be nice, knowing there will always be a world after this one'._

"So, he wants my soul so he can go to an afterlife?" Jahaan surmised. "But that would leave me with the inability to go to one myself."

Frowning, Wahisietel grimly restated, "He uses people. He doesn't take interest in them unless they have something to offer."

"But…" Jahaan rubbed the bridge of his nose. "But why my soul? Why not just anyone?"

Shrugging, Wahisietel confessed, "That I cannot be sure of, I'm afraid."

"Is there anything I can do to protect myself, if he tries to take my soul by force?"

His frown deepening, Wahisietel replied, "There is no spell, prayer or curse that I'm aware of that can do such a thing. My advice is to not get into a situation where your soul in vulnerable. Though how you would go about that, I am not sure. I don't even know how he would go about transferring your soul into himself."

This uncertainty didn't exactly fill Jahaan with much comfort. Then again, Sliske was uncertainty incarnate; sipping his tea, Jahaan continued on, "These random, bizarre acts of kindness from Sliske... I don't know what to make of them. I can't ever tell if he's being genuine, or if he's just messing with me. I know, I know, you say he only ever uses people, but… but maybe he can be nice - even a broken clock is right twice a day, right? I mean, he saved my life at the Ritual, he helped keep Ozan safe…"

Jahaan neglected to mention their recent excursion to the outskirts of Prifddinas. He didn't quite know why, but sharing that information so freely just didn't feel right. It was like a secret he promised not to tell, unspoken though it was.

Wahisietel did not look impressed. "You do not know him like I know him, Jahaan, and I hope you never meet the Sliske I once knew."

A crooked smile broke into Jahaan's features, one devoid of humour. "I've heard stories."

"Stories do not do his actions justice, but that is a conversation for another time," setting down his teacup, Wahisietel closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, like he was trying to shift Sliske's ghost from his thoughts. "Now, about Zemouregal - are you serious about killing him?"

His resolve returned, Jahaan stated, "I am."

"And you say that Azzanadra is aiding us in this?"

"Sliske's gone to convince him."

"Then perhaps it would pay us to join him," Wahisietel declared, reverting to his Mahjarrat form. "We're going to need to strategise, after all."

_Meanwhile..._

"Hmm… well, we certainly have enough firepower on our side to outmatch him," Azzanadra was pondering aloud, running through the idea in his head. Sliske wasn't all that surprised he could talk Azzanadra into killing Zemouregal so easily; there was no love lost between the two, after all. "It would be one less opponent at the next Ritual. Out of all the Zamorakians, he certainly is the most insufferable."

Turning towards Sliske, he declared, "If the World Guardian manages to get Wahisietel on our side, then you have my support too. Zaros can only be pleased at us for sending that traitor into the void."

Knowing he'd succeeded, Sliske grinned. "Oh, the Empty Lord will be most pleased. The World Guardian is convincing my brother now. He agreed to meet us here if all was successful."

Looking around at the renovated chamber, Sliske admired the attention to detail Azzanadra had put into the restoration. Whomever the carpenter was, Sliske made a mental note to ask for their information if he ever decided to renovate the Barrows. "I like what you've done with the place. Brings back memories."

Sighing wistfully, Azzanadra replied, "It feels like home."

Raising an eyebrow, Sliske countered, "You don't feel like Freneskae is your home anymore?"

"I stopped feeling that way as soon as Zaros took us in," Azzanadra gazed longingly at the symbol on the far wall. "There is no home without him."

"Right…" Sliske awkwardly rocked on his heels. He'd never felt the devotion his Mahjarrat companion had to the Empty Lord. Oh, he'd been loyal. He'd even been a follower. One might have called him devout, at a pinch. But Azzanadra was on an entirely different level.

Then again, Sliske agreed it did feel nice being back in the temple. It reminded him of a time when he had a role in society, and while that inevitably grew _boring_, such times had a treasured place in his memories. Those were days that would never be seen again.

It was then he turned to study Azzanadra, who was repositioning the candles on the altar. His robes draped perfectly over him, like a royal coat, and while he did insist on wearing that _ridiculous hat_, he managed to pull it off with prowess and grace.

So to did Azzanadra bring back some welcomed memories.

Sliske saw an opportunity, and he decided to test the waters.

He slipped closer to Azzanadra, his shadow a sneering presence that towered over them both. With a coy smirk, he smoothly remarked, "You know, it's been such a long time since you and I have been alone together."

There was no way Azzanadra didn't get the insinuation; he met Sliske with stern eyes. "There's good reason for that."

"And what, pray tell, is that?" Sliske gently brushed his hand over Azzanadra's, who to their mutual surprise did not immediately flinch away.

"Don't act so innocent," Azzanadra snapped. "You know damn well what I mean."

"The excommination?" sniffing a faint laugh, Sliske looked up at the taller Mahjarrat with half-lidded eyes and moved closer to him, so that their chests touched. "Since when has Zaros ever gotten between us before? I seem to remember a certain Pontifex Maximus regularly calling the Praefectus Praetorio into his office for more than just matters of state..."

Sliske let the words linger, hot breath on Azzanadra's cheek.

At that moment, Wahisietel and Jahaan emerged inside the temple. Catching the scene, Jahaan forced himself to suppress a smirk as he remarked, "Are we interrupting something?"

Wahisietel just shook his head with disappointment.

Sighing with frustration, Sliske whirled around and commented, "Crackerjack timing, and here I thought Wahi would take longer to convince."

Despite himself, Jahaan felt like giggling, and covered his mouth with his hand until he was certain he'd contained himself. During this, Wahisietel spoke up, "Jahaan has told me of your plan, Sliske. What say you, Azzanadra?"

"I am willing to partake," Azzanadra declared. "We have three times his power. It is the perfect opportunity. And," he turned to Jahaan, trying to muster what to a Mahjarrat would pass as 'sympathy'. "We finally have the incentive to remove that stain from this world. I am sorry at the price you and your comrades had to pay, Jahaan."

Jahaan nodded solemnly in way of thanks. "So, when do we go? Tonight?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sliske was the first one to cut in. "You are running on nothing but fumes. You need to rest if you are to be of any help to us."

Jahaan opened his mouth to protest, but the action betrayed him, turning into a yawn. Smugly, Sliske grinned.

"Fine," Jahaan conceded, admitting to himself that he was exhausted. "When then?"

"Five days," Azzanadra stated. "While I admire your enthusiasm, Sliske's right - you need to be of use to us, and you can't do that unless you have armour and a weapon. Your previous set was destroyed in the fire, yes? I will provide you with another set, specially made."

Gobsmacked, Jahaan had to shake his head to order his thoughts. "That… that is incredibly generous of you, Azzanadra. Thank you, deeply."

Azzanadra managed the faintest of smiles. "It is the least I could do. After all, it was you who brought my lord back to me."

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	33. Quest 08: Mark of Zemouregal (Ch3)

**Quest 08: Mark of Zemouregal**

**Chapter 3 - Ready for Battle**

Because of Jahaan's betrayal of Zamorak during their heist of the Stone of Jas, Zemouregal takes the matter of revenge into his own hands. When Jahaan looks to get even, he enlists the help of his Mahjarrat allies to take the fight to Zemouregal…

* * *

Jahaan agreed to lay low at the temple with Azzanadra until they were ready to attack. After all, the last place Zemouregal was likely to wander into was a Zarosian Temple. If he could stay out of sight until then, they'd still have the element of surprise. Then again, how much they actually needed it was debatable, what with a three-Mahjarrat assault on their side.

The next day, at dusk, the three reconvened in the Temple to strategise.

Zemouregal's fort is a manor located east of Trollweiss Mountain, deep in the snowy realms of northern Gielinor. It was given to him by Zamorak for his assistance in overthrowing Zaros in the Second Age, and has since been used as his home and base of operations. One might think that it must be quite lonely up there, having no-one for company other than his undead minions. Well, he does have his second in command with him up there, a gargoyle by the name of Sharathteerk. Now, gargoyles aren't usually known for their sentience, but Sharathteerk was different; his intelligence and loyalty allowed him the rank of Zemouregal's second.

I'm sure after a few centuries, though, the two ran out of things to talk about.

The fortress itself was high towers and solid stone walls, sharp portcullises and a grand skull carved into the front, just to reiterate - if it wasn't already apparent - that one should 'be afraid, be very afraid'. Zombies patrolled the perimetre, slowly lumbering on anything that catches their… eye? Ear? Nose? However zombies target their prey, anyway. Now, one zombie isn't a problem for almost anyone with a sharp enough sword and the forethought to aim for the head. Zemouregal had FUCKTONNES.

From afar it looked like a grotty ocean, the mindless movements of the zombies resembling waves crashing and falling. For zombies, the best strategy is to take them out from a distance, as they can't really do much about an enemy with a bow and arrow or a magic spell. If you have one to hand, a canon takes them out in no time.

Alas, Jahaan and his merry band of Mahjarrat didn't have a cannon to hand, but they did have a lot of mystic firepower.

So, for a frontal assault, they'd be no problem, right? Well, as Jahaan found out in Guthix's chamber, Zemouregal is wise enough to at least know when he is bested, and even he wouldn't dare take on three Mahjarrat and a bloke with a couple of swords all by himself; if he saw the assault charging over the horizon, he'd likely make a break for it, and the opportunity would be lost.

"Why not just teleport into his fortress, kill the son of a bitch and high tail it out of there?" Jahaan suggested.

A teleport block, put simply. Zemouregal and his minions can leave and enter, but no-one unauthorised can teleport inside. It's a basic magic spell that prominent figures across Gielinor use to protect their castles, strongholds, homes, anything at all. Yet despite its simplicity, no-one has discovered a way to break it. Rumour has it that the dark wizards have been experimenting, but with little success.

"We have to cast our own teleport block around the fortress," Azzanadra stated, sighing as he begrudgingly added, "However, this can only be done after the beacon containing his teleport block spell is broken."

There was also another issue - Zemouregal can sense the presence of Mahjarrat around him.

"But he can't sense me," Jahaan was quick to declare. "If I can break that beacon, you can cast the tele-block spell. We'll then be able to storm the fortress and he won't be able to escape."

Wahisietel considered this. "It's a start, but there are still many issues to this plan. For instance, how would you get inside Zemouregal's fortress? Even with those swords of yours, you would be overrun in an instant against his undead horde."

"Lamistard's tunnels," Sliske piped up, softly. He was staring at the ground, locked in quiet concentration. It was only now he regained his excited energy to explain, "Remember, the Mahjarrat who tried to tunnel his way to be underneath the Ritual Marker, but instead the damn fool accidentally wound up inside Zemouregal's Fortress?"

"The sacrifice at the 16th Gielinorian Ritual," Azzanadra nodded in remembrance, a smile tugging at his lips as he realised where Sliske was going with this. "Jahaan could make his way through the tunnels and bypass the horde."

"You can't go alone," Wahisietel stated. "But he'll sense one of us if we're nearby. Sliske, does the Shadow Realm mask his Mahjarrat sensing ability?"

"Somewhat," Sliske replied, tentatively. "But if we're that close, he'll notice something. My suggestion is that one of you two goes to the Ritual Marker. He'll sense a Mahjarrat close by, but your presence will conflict with mine, and he won't be able to tell how close the World Guardian and I are to him."

Sternly, Wahisietel countered, "I think it best that _I _accompany the World Guardian."

Trying to hide a smile, Sliske inquired, "When was the last time you entered the Shadow Realm, brother?"

"While I don't lurk in the shadows as much as you, Sliske, I know how to navigate the Shadow Realm."

In order to prove it, Wahisietel stepped forward, closing his eyes to concentrate deeply.

Nothing happened.

Wahisietel squinted. His proficiency with the Shadow Realm had been nothing in comparison to his half-brother, but he could at least _see _into the thing. But no matter how hard he focused, he couldn't manage it.

"Sliske, have you tampered with the Shadow Realm somehow?" he accused, gruffly. It seemed like a far-out claim, but if anyone was bold enough to tamper with an entire _realm_, it was Sliske.

"Ah, yes," Sliske chuckled nervously. "An unfortunate side-effect of an ongoing plan. Neither you, nor Azzanadra, nor any Mahjarrat can see into the Shadow Realm."

"Sliske, that's-!" Wahisietel stormed over to Sliske, who disappeared into the Shadow Realm with a click of his fingers before Wahisietel could deck him.

"_Calm down, Wahi,"_ Sliske's voice was echoed now that it was emanating from another realm. "_Look on the bright side - Zemmy can't get in either. Only Janny and I."_

Azzanadra crinkled his brow. "Why did you give the World Guardian access to the Shadow Realm?"

Reappearing behind Jahaan, Sliske placed two large gloved hands on Jahaan's shoulders and shrugged. "Seemed like a fun idea at the time."

"It'll be fine," Jahaan straightened up his shoulders, but didn't shrug off the palms. "Sliske and I can handle this. If you go to the Marker, Azzanadra can cast the spell when it's ready."

Stepping forward, Azzanadra grew rather serious as he said, "Now listen, I know you want to take on Zemouregal alone - your tenacity would be commendable if it wasn't so foolhardy. Yes, your armour will help protect against his magicks, and your swords can do a great deal of damage if you managed to get close enough, but the chances of you besting Zemouregal without our help is slim to none."

"You tricked him into fighting on even ground once," Sliske continued, "He won't be tricked so easily this time, not when his back is against the wall. He will come at you with everything he has in order to survive."

Wahisietel finished, "Allow us to help weaken him. If you must, you can strike the final blow in order to sate your bloodlust, but without our assistance in the battle, all of this will be in vein. You will die, and you can't exactly enact vengeance from beyond the grave."

Reluctantly, Jahaan let this sink in, looking between the Mahjarrat as they tried to convey the severity of what they were about to undertake. It hadn't quite hit home for Jahaan yet, with his adrenaline and urge for revenge still at an all time high; the anger had sizzling under the surface of his skin ever since the night of the fire, though he'd kept it dormant for now. The Mahjarrat had a point, after all - if he was being honest with himself, Jahaan would admit that he got lucky against Zemouregal last time.

After contemplating this for a while, Jahaan accepted, "Okay, you're right, I can't face him alone. But please, let me be the one to end him for good."

His smile growing with a hint of wickedness, Wahisietel said, "I'm sure that can be arranged."

In the days that followed, Jahaan was getting rather restless in the Temple, for there wasn't exactly much in the way of entertainment, and he often felt like a bother to his Mahjarrat host, who liked to spend most of his time in quiet prayer or reading one of the vast amounts of novels he'd accumulated over the years.

Jahaan was too restless to settle into a book; his mind churned at all hours, either worrying about Ozan, thinking of his bitter conversation with Ariane, seething at the memory of Zemouregal, or worse, trying to figure out exactly what Sliske wanted with his soul. Wahisietel's theory seemed on point, that Sliske simply needed a ticket into the afterlife.

_But why me?_ The question repeated over and over in his mind. _Why go through this whole charade if that's how you plan for it to end?_

He found himself having to force the thoughts from his head as they riled him up too much. Restlessness was bad enough, and he needed to direct his anger at Zemouregal right now, not Sliske. The latter could be dealt with once Zemouregal was in a shallow grave.

So, in order to free his mind from such stresses, Jahaan focused on some training. Despite feeling like he'd asked for too much already, Jahaan buckled up the courage to ask for some runes, both of the ancient and normal variety. If he was to be cooped up for a while, he might as well make the most of his time. There was still a section of the mines yet to be cleared up from the temple's restoration that made a perfect training ground, and Jahaan fortunately had enough prowess by now to not bring the entire cave down on top of him with a misused spell.

Azzanadra's gifts, however, might negate the need for magic in the end, but it's always best to be prepared.

"This material is elder rune," Azzanadra explained, presenting the custom made armour set and dual longswords to Jahaan. "It was first discovered in limited quantities in the Third Age, but only very recently have more ore veins been unearthed. Like runite, it's protection against conventional weaponry is unparalleled, providing significant protection against melee fighters. However, elder rune is special - it provides the same mystic protection as high tier combat mage robes, the likes of which we Mahjarrat don. Since you might be in the line of fire from Zemouregal himself, this will improve your survival odds tenfold, alongside protecting you from his undead abominations."

Jahaan's eyes sparkled like a kid on Wintumber's morning. The entire armour and weapons set much have cost Azzanadra a fortune; Jahaan had never come close to any merchants selling the armour, only heard rumours about them, and let's just say, a full set like this cost even more than a two bedroom starter home in Menaphos' Imperial District. When armour costs more than a house, you know you mean business. Just one of the longswords alone would cost more than the entirety of his previous rune armour set.

"Azzanadra, I…" he dazily began, half-minded to refuse the set, unworthy as he felt.

The smile that Azzanadra attempted tried to be warm and soothing, bless him, but it didn't come naturally. Nevertheless, the sentiment came across to Jahaan as the Mahjarrat assured, "This is but pocket change to me, do not fear. Like I mentioned previously, I am in your debt, World Guardian."

Turning one of the longswords over in his hand, Jahaan dreamily replied, "Consider the debt paid in full, and then some…"

Unsurprisingly, the armour fit like a glove. Azzanadra must have sized him up pretty well, because it felt like it was tailor made. The way the armour curved to his body, never impeding his movement, like it was moulding and reforming with every strike and lunge… he'd never felt so comfortable, not even in silk. In comparison, it made his rune armour feel like iron. That was quite an unfair comparison - many warriors would kill to have a full runite set, and considering he got the thing for free, he didn't want to sound ungrateful - but he'd be lying if he said he could go onto any other armour after wearing elder rune. There was no turning back now, and Jahaan was quite enjoying this side of being the World Guardian. Having friends in high places led to a taste of the good life.

The only weird thing about the armour was the slight tingle that tickled his skin. Azzanadra explained this was normal, that it was the side effects of a non-divine being coming into contact with high mystic protection. Mages never seemed to mention that, so they must have gotten used to it quickly, and Jahaan found that after wearing the set for a few hours, he himself barely noticed it anymore.

Naturally, the swords were a dream. They were longswords, and while Jahaan was used to shortswords, he quickly adjusted. Despite their increased length, they were lighter than what he was used to, which increased his fluid movements and made each strike more precise, for he felt he had more control over them. Not to mention they were even more deadly that his last set - some poor training dummies confirmed that. Zemouregal's armoured zombies usually wore iron or steel, so as an experiment, Jahaan put a steel platebody on a melee training dummy.

The armour, and the dummy inside, was sliced clean in half.

He'd had more strain slicing a loaf of bread.

Jahaan was raring to go, and a good thing too, for the next day, as soon as the sun set, they would strike Zemouregal's fort.

Wahisietel shivered as the cold air of the Ritual Site bit through his robes. Once again, he'd come to the plateau underdressed, having not learned his lesson from last time. Huddling into himself, he approached the Marker with caution. It wasn't exactly going to attack, but its presence was so imposing and formidable that it caused the ridges on his back to rise. On the ground, partially buried among the snow, he saw the shining glimmer of something. Carefully brushing the snow away, he noticed a yellow crystal glimmering. Lucien's crystal.

The gem was now cold to the touch, having lost the life essence that allowed it to radiate heat. Picking it up, Wahisietel couldn't help but feel a knot in his stomach.

_This is all that is left of him,_ he thought to himself, turning the crystal over in his palm. Delicately, he placed it back on the ground where it was found, regretting having disturbed it in the first place. Mahjarrat superstation didn't forbid the handling of gems; many carried around the crystals of their fallen kin, and Wahisietel was no exception, keeping them in an ornate box in his Nardah home. However, Lucien was not kin.

Memories of the last Ritual flashed through Wahisietel's mind in an unwelcome storm, and it made him think towards the next Ritual. It was many centuries away, but time seemed to flow differently for an immortal, and it would creep upon him before he knew it. The question of a suitable sacrifice was one thing that troubled him. Killing Zemouregal was, in many ways, a waste of a perfectly good sacrifice, but it had to be done. With him and Lucien gone, that left Enakhra and Khazard as the last remaining Zamorakian Mahjarrat. As far as Wahisietel was aware, no other Zamorakian Mahjarrat remained on Gielinor, or at least none had attended the last Ritual.

Enakhra was still the last surviving female, so her safety was all but guaranteed. Khazard was the youngest, and it wouldn't take too much for the others to come around to sacrificing him next.

_But what of the Ritual after that?_ He was thinking many Rituals in advance now, but there was no doubt in his mind every other member of his race had contemplated the exact same thing, many, many times.

_Soon it would leave a Zarosian,_ Wahisietel thought bitterly. Akthanakos was no doubt the weakest of their tribe left; he would be a prime candidate. Azzanadra was too powerful to ever be sacrificed, and Zaros would never allow it. Sliske was too strong as well, but the rate he was going, he'd be lucky if he made it to next year, let alone the next Ritual.

With a heavy heart he realised that he would be sacrificed before long, and then, soon enough, there would come the extinction of the Mahjarrat. Zaros had promised to free them from their Rituals - it was one of the reasons the Mahjarrat left Icthlarin for the Empty Lord - but he had yet to fulfil his promise.

Because of this, they were a dying species.

Instead of getting lost in his depressing thoughts, Wahisietel removed the CommOrb from his nap sack and awaited his cue. By now, Jahaan and Sliske would be enclosing on Zemouregal's fortress.

It wouldn't be long now…

Once Wahisietel was in place, Sliske and Jahaan could teleport into the vicinity in the Shadow Realm. Oddly, the biting cold of Trollweiss Mountain didn't hit as hard as Jahaan thought it would. Perhaps the Shadow Realm negated some of the material realm's harsh climates, or perhaps the mystic armour had some bizarre temperature regulating powers? Jahaan didn't know, and he didn't frankly care, as long as he wasn't getting hypothermia on this night.

"The entrance to the tunnels should be just up this ridge," Sliske stated, hugging his robes into himself slightly as they trudged through the thick snow.

Thankfully there weren't any trolls in sight, not that it would matter all that much, since they were hidden from view in the Shadow Realm. The footprints they left behind, on the other hand, were visible, and Jahaan chuckled at the thought of some confused and perturbed trolls scratching their skulls at the invisible men hiking through their valleys.

Troll Country was, in many ways, beautiful - a canvas of perfect snow, crisp and clean, coating the ground and all its surroundings. Evergreen trees complimented the white decoration on its thick leaves, lovingly taking on the descending snowflakes as they scattered down from the skies.

Maybe it was the kid in him, but Jahaan couldn't help but want to go sledging.

Now was not the time.

At the top of the ridge, a cave entrance protruded out of the snow, albeit barely. It took a little bit of digging with his gloved hands - Jahaan's that it, Sliske sat back as 'moral support' - before the cave in its entirety was visible, tall enough for the both of them to fit through.

Despite having a match at the ready, Jahaan wasn't prepared for just how dark the tunnel was, forcing himself to stumble into the nearest wall and feel his way to a torch in order to bring some light to the place. Once the first torch was lit, the tunnel opened up in front of them both, a somewhat neatly dug pathway marked by unlit torches. Jahaan carried the first torch with him, lighting the others as he went.

"Well, Lamistard didn't do a half-bad job here," Sliske remarked, eyeing up the cavern as they rounded their first corner. "Apart from the whole, you know, 'sense-of-direction' thing."

"What was he like, this Lamistard?" Jahaan inquired, lighting another torch as he did so.

Waving his hand dismissively, Sliske replied, "No-one of note or importance. Stood with Zamorak against Zaros, but even that didn't end up doing him many favours. Guess he knew even the Zamorakians were going to sacrifice him soon enough, so he tried to circumvent the Ritual. It… didn't go to plan. Not that I'm complaining."

"He died so you could live," Jahaan all-but mumbled. The words felt heavy and cloying in his throat.

Shrugging, Sliske continued, "The Mahjarrat are a kratocratically ruled tribe, and our Ritual is the epitome of that. I didn't make the rules, and I shan't complain when they work in my favour."

"Don't you ever think of him?" Jahaan pressed, somewhat more strongly than he should have. "That you sent him into an eternity of nothingness, an end to his entire existence, just so you could keep on living?"

Sliske stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing. "What are getting at, World Guardian?"

After lighting the nearest torch, Jahaan blew out the one he was holding and set it against the wall. A part of him knew he shouldn't have said anything, but the question had been eating away at him for days, and something about Lamistard's sorry story set him on edge. Turning to Sliske, he folded his arms over his chest, a stern and serious expression on his face. "Why do you want my soul, Sliske? Tell me the truth. Am I as disposable to you as Lamistard was to the Mahjarrat?"

Tilting his chin up, Sliske's expression warped slightly. "So, that's what this is about."

"Just spit it out, Sliske," Jahaan demanded. "I have to know - why me? Why my soul? And if you'd always planned to steal it, why toy with me all this time, acting like you care?"

"That is not your concern."

"It's my soul, it IS my fucking concern!" Jahaan snapped back. "You want an afterlife, don't you? So you steal my soul and claim eternity for yourself, but I guess you don't care where that leaves me, do you?"

"We made a deal," Sliske countered through gritted teeth. "I help you kill Zemouregal, you give me your soul. A simple exchange."

Sniffing a humourless laugh, Jahaan rolled his eyes and remarked, "This would make a good plot for one of your plays, Sliske."

The pause that followed was thick and deadly, a chill in the air.

"Who told you about my plays?" Sliske demanded, low and fierce.

Straightening up his shoulders, Jahaan looked on in bafflement. He wasn't expecting the comment to get such a strong reaction, and it knocked him for six. "Zamorak. So?"

"You weren't supposed to know about those!" Sliske snapped, his voice like the crack of a whip.

Jahaan's confusion warped into anger rapidly. "What, you embarrassed your _perfect reputation_ is tarnished?" he derided. "Gods, Azzanadra was right about your mood swings..."

In hindsight, this was the worst thing Jahaan could have said.

Yellow irises danced with flickers of flame, the corners of Sliske's mouth twitching with a cruel sneer. His voice was deathly quiet, almost a whisper, as he said, "...You've been talking to Azzanadra about me?"

Gulping, Jahaan regretted ever opening his mouth, but he forced his fear aside - rage was so much easier to handle. "Yeah, so? I thought you of all people would enjoy being the topic of conversation."

"And what did he tell you?" his sneer cracked his features, morphed into something otherworldly and venomous.

Jahaan saw no reason to lie at this point. Sliske would know. "He told me that your mood has always changed like the weather, and that if you came to threaten me again he would deal with you personally."

This caused Sliske to erupt in a roar of laughter that was full of bile and animosity. "Oh, that's _adorable_," he spat, words dripping like acid from his fanged teeth.

Stalking closer to Jahaan, Sliske watched with sadistic glee as the young man forced himself not to flinch. "Well, where's your precious Azzanadra now, hm?" he towered over Jahaan like a looming shadow, imposing and dangerous.

The claw shot out like a bow from an arrow, latching itself tightly around Jahaan's throat, lifting him off the ground with ease. Instantly Jahaan's hands pushed against the offending arm, trying to pry away Sliske's firm grip, but it was locked onto him.

"Slis-_ah!_" he gasped, breath hitching as he felt Sliske's nails pierce his fragile skin, drawing blood that trickled crimson down his throat.

A brief glimpse through tear-filled eyes saw Sliske's stoic expression, blank and deadly, the only life being the fire dancing behind his eyes. "Is this how you'd prefer me, World Guardian?" Sliske growled, flashing his teeth. "Is this easier to comprehend?"

It was a much tighter hold than the last time Jahaan found himself in this predicament; Sliske meant business, and he could pop his head like a grape if he wanted to. If Jahaan had the ability to form coherent thoughts that weren't frantic and scattered, he would have realised this was the very first time he truly witnessed the gravitas of Sliske's power. Gasping for air that would not come, Jahaan felt himself growing increasingly dizzy and lightheaded, the only thing keeping him stable being the immense pain of Sliske's nails digging into his neck.

Though he felt his limbs becoming weaker and weaker, he desperately fought to reach for his dagger, but he was too slow, the movement too telegraphed. However, instead of retaliation, Jahaan felt himself released. He ragdolled to the ground, collapsing in a panting and spluttering heap. Hungrily he gasped in the warm air, scrambling over to put his back against the nearest wall.

Jahaan tried to gather his bearings, and once he managed to wipe away the tears from his eyes he realised he was no longer in the Shadow Realm - the air was too warm, the colours too vivid.

It took a long while for Jahaan to calm his breathing and ease his rapid heart rate, but once he did, he tried to look into the Shadow Realm, or at least open his mind up enough into the realm in order to sense if Sliske was still present. Thankfully, he wasn't.

Rubbing the bruising on his neck, Jahaan could feel the swelling of welts that would turn an ugly shade of purple before long. Coupled with that, Jahaan's fingers dripped crimson when he withdrew them, spots of dark red staining his skin. There wasn't much blood, thankfully, and Jahaan didn't think they'd scar. Still, one look at him and Wahisietel or Azzanadra would be able to deduce what had happened.

_Sliske's not ruining this for me,_ Jahaan vowed to himself, not wanting to back out despite them being a man short. But it was the lingering thought that the other Mahjarrat might withdraw that caused Jahaan not to inform them of the change in circumstance. They'd find out soon enough anyhow.

He wasn't going to let Sliske get to him. Not now, when so much was at stake. This would be his only chance at Zemouregal for a long while. Still, the painful bruises at his neck served as a constant reminder of the enemy he'd just made.

Picking himself up off the ground, Jahaan stretched out the kinks in his neck and concentrated on shifting back into the Shadow Realm. Sliske or no Sliske, it was strategically the best way to sneak through Zemouregal's fort.

Winding his way through the tunnels, Jahaan found himself getting turned around on more than one occasion - Lamistard had hardly created a labyrinth, but it also appeared as if not much planning had gone into the tunnelling beforehand. That's probably why he ended up under the fort instead of where he'd intended, under the Ritual Marker.

Eventually though, Jahaan started to see the beginnings of civilisation in the form of stone paving, storage crates and more torches in close proximity to one another. Perhaps Zemouregal had attempted to make the most out of Lamistard's labour and renovate some of the tunnels into a basement, but from the looks of it, the enormity of the task was too much and he'd long since given up. Still, it didn't take too long to find a hatch that, when the corresponding chain was pulled, revealed a ladder which would take Jahaan up to the surface.

He'd made it inside Zemouregal's fort undetected.

_Now for the tricky part..._

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	34. Quest 08: Mark of Zemouregal (Ch4)

**Quest 08: Mark of Zemouregal**

**Chapter 4 - Dance of the Undead**

Because of Jahaan's betrayal of Zamorak during their heist of the Stone of Jas, Zemouregal takes the matter of revenge into his own hands. When Jahaan looks to get even, he enlists the help of his Mahjarrat allies to take the fight to Zemouregal…

* * *

Unfortunately, passing through solid objects such as doors and walls wasn't possible in the Shadow Realm - you would still collide with anything in the 'material world' - therefore, opening creaking doors with stealth and finesse was still a real artform. Anyone could hear them, or see the door moving of its own accord, like some bored phantom out for a wander.

Jahaan edged the first door open with a hunched back and a wince that covered his entire face, flinching with every audible groan that the old door made. Alas, though not surprisingly, he didn't find the teleport beacon beyond the first door. In fact, it took six doors until he finally hit the jackpot.

The study the teleport beacon was in was small and cluttered, books piled in an unorderly fashion next to drab bookshelves after Zemouregal invariably got bored of putting them back where they belonged. From the amount of dust each one had accumulated, Jahaan gathered he wasn't much of an avid reader. This came as little surprise.

The teleport beacon itself didn't exactly look like a magical marvel - it was a clunky steel construction, standing tall at about a foot off the desk. Inside it, however, would be an enchanted crystal, and that's what Jahaan needed to get to. It took everything in his power to resist smashing it against the table. Instead, he used his fingernails to delicately pry the back of the casing off. Reaching inside, he gently nudged the gem loose and knocked it into his palm. The lights on the beacon instantly went dark, but fortunately, no alarms sounded. Jahaan prepared for a roar, backlash, the clatter of undead footsteps… but no. Perhaps Zemouregal hadn't gotten around to wiring up his security systems properly either? Rather careless of him, or arrogant, depending on your outlook.

After placing the tiny shining blue crystal into his rucksack, Jahaan pulled out the CommOrb, suddenly struck with a bolt of poignant familiarity; he'd seen Sir Tiffy use one to summon Thaerisk to the Ritual Site after the last Mahjarrat Ritual. It was a weird thing to haunt him, and it cut deeper than imagined. With all his anger, planning, running here, there and everywhere, Jahaan had not allowed himself the chance to _grieve_.

_There'll be time enough when Zemouregal's dead,_ he vowed, shaking off the solemn cobwebs from around his mind and activating the CommOrb, tuning it to Azzanadra's frequency.

Upon a ridge, as far away from the fortress as he could be without being out of spell range, Azzanadra tucked the CommOrb back in its pouch and began to concentrate, hard. A spell of that magnitude wasn't a walk in the park, hence beacons were implemented to save mages working in shifts to protect homes and castles, such as they did back in the earliest days of magic. The spell's complexity was no trouble, nor was the duration he'd have to hold it for, not for a powerful battlemage like Azzanadra. No, the hardest thing for him would be sitting on the sidelines while Sliske, Wahisietel and the World Guardian faced up against Zemouregal without him. A large part of him wanted to be there as that Zamorakian filth drew his final breath, after all.

His lips curved into a cruel smile as he muttered to himself. "Not long now, Zemouregal, before you join your wretched cousin in the void… it has been a long time coming..."

After ending the communication with Azzanadra, Jahaan then tuned into Wahisietel's CommOrb, and within moments the Mahjarrat was standing in front of him.

However, Jahaan couldn't even get a word out before Wahisietel, looking around him uneasily, queried, "Where is Sliske?"

"We had a... _disagreement_," Jahaan groaned, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He wanted to brush past it, to focus on the task at hand and keep Sliske as far away from his mind as possible. In a time like this, he was a dangerous distraction. "It doesn't matter right now - Zemouregal would have sensed you're here, so we have to act fast."

Unfortunately, Wahisietel wasn't so easily brushed aside. Narrowing his stern eyes upon Jahaan, he demanded, "Your neck. Did Sliske do that to you?!"

Subconsciously rubbing the bruises around his throat, Jahaan averted his gaze. "Okay, so it was a little more than a disagreement. Here, I know we're one man down, so if you want to back out, I understand, but I'm not going anywhere. Just make sure Azzanadra doesn't relent that teleblock for a while."

Shaking his head, Wahisietel grumbled something in a cursed tongue, a hiss-infused-growl that scraped against Jahaan's ears. Whatever he said, Jahaan could surmise it wasn't pleasant, and no doubt in regards to the absentee. Then, back in the familiar tongue, he asserted, "I gave you my word I would see this through, World Guardian. But as soon as this is over, you are to tell me _everything_. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," a ghost of a smile danced across Jahaan's lips, his eyes determined as he said, "Let's do this."

Zemouregal was definitely in residence - Wahisietel could sense that much. Now came the task of finding just where in this gothic fortress he was hiding. Thankfully, it didn't take long, for as soon as the pair rounded the next corner, they found exactly what they were looking for - a large chamber door, crimson-coloured ornaments warping their way across the metal in twisted and vulgar patterns. It looked like it led to a grand hall, somewhere defensible that Zemouregal would greet unwanted guests, somewhere he could look down on them with his haughty chin raised, somewhere large enough to summon armies of the undead.

Nodding to one another, Wahisietel and Jahaan heaved the creaking doors open.

When the pair made their way inside, it was clear Zemouregal had been expecting someone, positioned at the far end of the room in a subtly defensive stance.

Zemouregal must have sensed Wahisietel's arrival, but from the look on his face when Jahaan emerged from behind the taller Mahjarrat, he was not expecting him.

Eyes flashing in shock, Zemouregal sneered, "So, back from the undead, World Guardian?"

"You should have finished me while you had the chance," Jahaan growled, clenching tightly onto the hilts of his longswords.

After a sharp laugh, Zemouregal broke out into a cracked and haunting grin. "Perhaps, but the temptation to see you burn was too much," his eyes scanned once again to Wahisietel, beside Jahaan, though he towered over the young man by a good height. "So, you brought this Zarosian scum along to act as a bodyguard - a wise move for a puny human, but I'm not going to entertain you maggots tonight."

Raising his hand, he attempted a teleportation spell, and his face crumbled into panic when he realised it didn't work.

With a satisfied smirk, Jahaan presented the teleblock crystal from out of a pocket on his rucksack. "This wasn't important, was it?"

Spitting a harsh curse, Zemouregal roared, "SHARATHTEERK! TO ME!"

The gargoyle manifested beside his master. "I come at your call, my lord."

"Summon reinforcements and dispatch of that Zarosian pest, but leave the human for me," he ordered, and moments later a platoon of the undead appeared behind Sharatheerk, swaying dizzily from side to side like drunken sailors.

Because he was a _darling_, Zemouragal wasn't kind enough to allow Jahaan a path through his horde in order to face him mono e mono. Instead, Jahaan got the perfect opportunity to try out his new gear for real, and by the gods did he enjoy it. Charging right into the swarm with his swords held aloft, Jahaan unleashed fury.

Zombies don't bleed, not requiring the circulatory system one requires blood for. Therefore, no crimson tail was left in the wake of Jahaan's attacks. Having had the unfortunate pleasure of fighting many a man and beast in his time, Jahaan had become used to the sounds of death. From a man or a humanoid creature, it's this sickening slurp, sort of like a squelch, that's usually masked by a groan or shriek of agony. The same usually went for beasts, although they had the tendency to roar through their pain. Zombies, on the other hand, made no protest upon re-death - they just crumbled to the ground and accepted it. That meant that there was nothing to hide just how nauseating blade through flesh and bone sounded, and if it wasn't for the chorus of moans coming from the sheer number of zombies, Jahaan might have let it affect him.

These types of zombies left a gooey greenish-black slime when cut into, and to be killed they must be decapitated. There were the older zombies, ones that have been dead for many years and decomposed into a near-skeletal form. These ones were absent of much fluid, tumbling to the ground with a low knock of bones and leaving a thin layer of dust upon the blade.

The main worry when fighting a zombie was their resiliency; you can cut all the limbs off one of these fuckers and he'll still shuffle towards you by shifting his broken ribcage if he must. Their attacks were wild and reckless, but in a group they can overwhelm quickly. If one latched onto you, you'd be in for a struggle to shake off the bastard before his friends joined in the fun. Then, of course, there was the standard zombie bite. Fortunately, the cure for a bite was stocked in almost every pharmacy in Gielinor, and handed out to anyone that requires it free of charge. Jahaan's armour covered him from neck to toe, so the only real risk came if he was swarmed and they pulled off a glove or boot, but as long as he got the antidote within seventy-two hours, he'd be fine.

Marvels of modern medicine.

And from how his swords cut through these undead cretins, they were marvels of modern smithing.

Jahaan swiped and swung from side to side, top to bottom, sometimes going straight for a decapitating blow, other times slicing inside the gut with one sword and stabbing through the brain with the other. As he fought on and on, he felt his dormant rage come back to him, but this time, he could control it, channel it into his precise attacks, carving a neat little path through the horde on his way to Zemouregal. Patient, making sure the Mahjarrat knew exactly what was coming for him.

In the shuffle, Wahisietel had become lost to the other side of the room, but the constant background noise of spells being channeled reassured Jahaan that he was still in the fight.

Jahaan didn't even try and keep track of just how many zombies he'd cut down in the melee, but they seemed to keep coming, occasionally knocking into Jahaan's armour before he had the chance to push them back and finish them off. Letting too many of them enclose on his personal space would be a real danger to him, so Jahaan fought carefully, not irrationally.

He had one chance to end this, and he wasn't going to let some poor undead sap get the better of him.

In Wahisietel's battle, he'd been using magic over melee, naturally. However, magic wasn't always the best strategy against the undead because, as previously mentioned, only a strong and precise strike to the head will kill them. Magic came in blasts, in waves, in spells that could throw a horse back a good few paces, maybe slow them down even further for a while, but they'd keep on coming back. Therefore, Wahisietel had developed the strategy of knocking them backwards with a large blast of ice magic, then using smaller and more deliberate ice spells aimed at the head to pick them off one by one. For once, the Mahjarrat was at a disadvantage over the tiny human with the blades.

However, Sharathteerk was a different story altogether. The gargoyle, who had been waiting in the wings while the zombies were attacking Wahisietel, finally got bored of sitting around and decided to bring the fight to the Mahjarrat.

Big. Mistake.

All of these precise strikes were frustrating the heck out of Wahisietel, so when a large target came along without a specific body part for a weakness, Wahisietel let loose.

It wasn't long before the gargoyle, so overwhelmed against the flurry of ice and smoke attacks from the Mahjarrat, succumbed to the intense barrage and shattered into fragments that exploded across the room. Jahaan had forgotten about Sharathteerk's existence entirely until the remnants of his left thigh shot overhead and buried itself into a zombie's skull. Looking past the swarm, Jahaan fought to see Zemouregal's reaction, and he wasn't disappointed; seeing Sharathteerk's demise, Zemouregal's face looked increasingly worried now. He summoned another platoon of zombies to fight in the gargoyle's place, growing even more desperate.

_Desperate people make mistakes,_ Jahaan noted, his own confidence growing.

Finally, after swinging his swords so much he wouldn't have been surprised if one of his shoulders detached and whirled away like a Catherine Wheel, the swarm began to thin out, only leaving a handful of the undead between Jahaan and Zemouregal.

In one last flurry of blades connecting with undead flesh, the last of the zombies fell.

The adrenaline was suffocating, causing Jahaan's erratic heartbeat to thrum loudly in his ears. Glaring into Zemouregal's eyes, there was so much he wanted to say; violent curses, vows of revenge… but words didn't matter now.

Jahaan charged head on towards Zemouregal. The Mahjarrat quickly summoned up a spell and thrust it towards Jahaan, but Jahaan dodged it, rolling out of the way and continuing onwards. The second blast, however, Jahaan didn't see until it was too late to evade.

Wincing, Jahaan tensed up and braced himself for the blast of shadow magic to connect. When it did, he was knocked backwards a step, but he wasn't even winded. Looking up at Zemouregal, the Mahjarrat was just as surprised as Jahaan that he was still standing.

Jahaan's lip upturned into a defiant smirk, the grip on his swords tightening as he charged again.

Absorbing the next blast was akin to fighting against a torrent of wind, but it was manageable. Each time the magic connected, Jahaan's armour would tingle even more, like the energy was being absorbed into the metal itself. Once he was close enough, Jahaan swung for Zemouregal's head. The swipe missed wildly, Zemouregal evading with ease, drawing his own sword to parry the rebound.

_Now, _Jahaan thought, _the fight can REALLY begin._

Jahaan knew that as soon as he could goad Zemouregal into drawing his sword the fight would be a whole lot fairer. The two blades clashed, the sharp metallic ring resonating throughout the chamber. Jahaan had no idea what Zemouregal's blade was made of; the metal was black, but it was far stronger than anything the black knights carried. Around the edges, smoke seeped from the blade, thin shadows coating the razor sharp metal. For a human the weapon would be held in two hands, if it could be lifted at all. Zemouregal, on the other hand, lifted it in one hand with the ease of someone lifting a quill pen.

Wasting little time, Zemouregal swung for a decapitating strike, but Jahaan rolled out of the way, the armour not hindering his movement or agility one bit. Like a second skin, it moulded to his body, moved with him, allowing him to gain distance from the blade before quickly dashing back in with a countering strike.

"Some fancy armour you have there, _World Guardian_," Zemouregal snorted the title like it was an insult. "Much nicer than anything those Temple Knights wear."

Zemouregal's comment was as sharp as his sword, pointed and attacking. The rush of blood that rose through Jahaan's throat made him falter, allowed Zemouregal the opening to slice his blade downwards. Jahaan dodged, but it was too close for comfort - he felt the metal whizz past his face, the cold rush of the breeze scratching his skin. If it had hit the mark, his head would have been sliced clean in half, like an apple being segmented.

Zemouregal's strategy was an obvious one; Jahaan cursed himself for being swayed so easily. Keeping his breathing steady, he let the words wash over him, focusing everything he had on channeling out Zemouregal's voice and putting everything into precise strikes.

"Did your dark-skinned friend make it out too?" Zemouregal jeered, all-too pleased with himself. "Such a shame I had to drug him. It would have been so much sweeter to hear him scream…"

_Breathe in... breathe out… swing… parry… evade… lunge… breathe in… breathe out…_

"Would you like me to tell you that druid's final words? Honestly, I've been laughing about them ever since… you know, he actually started crying! Such a pathetic human... "

_Breathe in… breath out… dodge... swing… parry… strike… breathe in… breathe out…_

"Your knight wasn't any better - he was shaking like a leaf! Stuttering and mumbling about Saradomin, as if that blue ponce could help him!"

_Breathe in… breath out… evade… swing… block… lunge… breathe in… breathe out..._

The constant back and forth was getting Zemouregal nowhere, and the lack of impact his words were having on the World Guardian really started to grate on him. Indignant, he pushed on harder, fought with an increased desperation and anger, but Jahaan could block everything he could swing at him.

Deducing his blade wasn't making any progress, Zemouregal started to warm up his palms with shadow energy. His mystic attacks from earlier did no good, but if he could build up the power, attack dead on at such a close distance...

Jahaan could see the spell being channeled, but figured he could swallow it and use Zemouregal's recharging time to try and get a lucky shot in.

However, he didn't realise Zemouregal was giving it everything he had.

Upon impact, Jahaan tumbled to the floor, swords clattering to the ground around him, the metallic ring echoing loud enough to catch the attention of Wahisietel.

"Jahaan!" he called out, moving to assist before he was tackled by a row of zombies who made the most of his distraction.

Groaning, Jahaan saw Zemouregal stalk over to him out of the corner of his eye, that smug smirk of his slashed across his face.

"You should have stayed dead, World Guardian," he gloated, summoning a spell to his palms. "This time I'll make sure it's permanent."

Before Zemouregal knew what hit him, his vision was clouded by a blinding smoke spell, causing him to cough and splutter as he gained distance from Jahaan.

Jahaan faltered slightly, so impressed that his smoke spell actually worked effectively that he forgot to capitalise. Luckily, Wahisietel had freed himself from the zombies and shot an ice blast from out of nowhere, careering straight into Zemouregal with a vicious impact. The Mahjarrat was knocked to the ground, and that's when Jahaan charged, scooping up one of his swords and bolting forwards.

He didn't waste time to gloat, or be smug, or allow Zemouregal even a second to register what was happening to him.

The blade plunged easily into the Mahjarrat's neck, sliding its way in like Jahaan was making the first carve into a tender chicken roast, but even more satisfying than the thought of a banquette ever could be. Gagging, hoarse rasps of breath were fought for, but Zemouregal never achieved them. Jahaan revelled in the wide-eyed terror glistening in his eyes, like the sockets were going to open up and let the eyeballs escape free. With teeth clenched, Jahaan took a deep, steadying breath, and slowly began to twist the blade inside his flesh, opening up a wound that started to seep ink-like fluid onto the ground below. He relished every second, watching the life fade from Zemouregal's eyes, the breath from his lungs, the blood from his veins.

Zemouregal was dead before the tip of the blade was removed from his neck.

As soon as Zemouregal was gone, the magic keeping the zombies animated suddenly ceased to be, and they all collapsed in piles of bones of the floor. Wahisietel watched them shatter, dust rising in clouds from their old corpses.

The adrenaline that had held Jahaan up those last few moments vanished as quickly as the zombies, and he collapsed to the ground, clutching balled up fists to his chest. He tried to prop himself up, instead sliding back to the floor, a hoarse groan forcing its way out as his clenched teeth tried to verbalise the pain.

"Jahaan!" Wahisietel called out, seeing the man fall to the ground. He rushed over, kneeling by his side.

"I'm okay," Jahaan winced. The injury wasn't anything too serious, just agonising. The severe pain in his chest confirmed his suspicions - he'd cracked a rib, if not multiple. Jahaan had cracked and even broken ribs before, several times too many in fact. Despite being familiar with the feeling, one never gets used to it. Breathing suddenly became torturous, but he forced deep breaths from himself, knowing this was necessary to protect his lungs. His armour would have to go, as would his weaponry, since their heaviness would worsen the injury. Right now though, he needed to get somewhere to recuperate that wasn't filled with zombie dust and dead Mahjarrat. He didn't even get a chance to relish in the victory thanks to the blinding pain in his chest.

"Contact Azzanadra," Jahaan tried to make his way to his feet, but seeing as he was struggling, Wahisietel practically lifted him up. "Let's leave this place. Fuck, I need some pain relievers…"

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	35. Quest 08: Mark of Zemouregal (Ch5)

**Quest 08: Mark of Zemouregal**

**Chapter 5 - Unavoidable Conflict**

Because of Jahaan's betrayal of Zamorak during their heist of the Stone of Jas, Zemouregal takes the matter of revenge into his own hands. When Jahaan looks to get even, he enlists the help of his Mahjarrat allies to take the fight to Zemouregal…

* * *

Jahaan landed back at the temple delicately, thanks to Wahisietel basically carrying him during the teleport. Removing his armour, Jahaan sat back against the oak frame of his bed's headrest while Azzanadra fetched something to ease the pain. The potion was bitter; sweet with a twinge of burnt apples was the only way he could describe it. Despite that, it served its purpose, helping to numb the aching of his ribs.

"That armour is the only reason you're still breathing, World Guardian," Wahisietel noted, motioning to the dented elder rune platebody resting against the wall. "It is somewhat fortunate Zemouregal destroyed your first set, is it not?"

There was a twinge of a smile of the Mahjarrat's face, and Jahaan caught the meaning. Despite the pain of it, Jahaan couldn't help but laugh at the irony. By trying to kill Jahaan, Zemouregal destroyed his armour. Jahaan's new set of armour saved his life against Zemouregal.

How bitterly poetic.

Closing his eyes, Jahaan let the drowsy side effects of the potion consume him, mumbling before he fell under, "I'll buff that out in the morning…"

It wasn't for quite a few mornings that Jahaan had the upper body strength to even raise his arms above his head, let alone take his armour to an anvil. Damaged ribs were a time-taker to heal - there was nothing he could do to speed up the process, just rest in the quarters of his Mahjarrat ally. As promised, he told Wahisietel of the troubling encounter with Sliske, and in return learned a whole new set of Freneskaen curse words.

But at least in the comfort of the temple, Jahaan felt safe. His mind, however, would never let him rest.

Just like after Lucien's death, Jahaan expected a miracle that didn't come to pass. He expected to feel relief, joy, _anything_. He expected the weight off his chest to be lifted, but the pain was still there, predominantly in the form of a cracked rib.

He didn't expect to still feel so hollow.

The rage had subsided at least, but that had ebbed away in the battle - a miracle in its own right, for Jahaan couldn't remember the last time he'd effectively controlled his temper like that. The mental image of the sword slicing into Zemouregal's throat put Jahaan to sleep every night, but he never slumbered for long, awoken either by the aching of his ribs or one of the many delightful recurring nightmares he'd been suffering from since the fire.

They were all there, friends and enemies alike. Ozan, Zamorak, Icthlarin, Zemouregal, Sir Tiffy, Cyrisus… their corpses cold and decaying, only to be dragged into reanimation by wires on their limbs, twisting and contorting their lifeless bodies against their will. Dancing marionettes, puppets on strings, shuffling to the rhythm of a haunting cackle, a gloved hand, a masked face.

Jahaan knew that voice all too well; he could only watch in horror as the familiar puppeteer orchestrated his plays, the world at his mercy.

After just under a week had passed, Jahaan felt like he'd graduated from bedrest and decided to leave Azzanadra in peace, still feeling bad that the Mahjarrat had acted as host and carer to a broken guest for far too long. Now that he was well enough to travel, albeit with the assistance of a cane, Jahaan wanted to check up on Ozan's progress in the Wizards' Tower. In one last favour he asked Azzanadra to teleport him to Draynor. There, Jahaan first utilised the bank to transport his armour to safe storage. His ribs still couldn't quite take the brunt of any constricting armour, despite how light and nimble the elder rune set was.

Then, it was just a short walk across the bridge to the Wizards' Tower, somewhere Jahaan was glad to be back at under less dire circumstances than before.

The Wizards' Tower is a Saradominist institute for magic and runecrafting in Misthalin, housed in an immense structure located on a small island south of Draynor. It is one of the tallest buildings on Gielinor, rivalling the greatest cities' castles, but coming short of the Tower of Voices in Prifddinas. It is connected to the mainland by an exquisite bridge, and the tower's elaborate architecture and ornaments make it a beacon of human accomplishment in the Fifth Age. The tower has many facilities, including two libraries, an armillary, a telescope, offices and workrooms. In addition, the tower houses several secrets, such as the teleportation spell to the Rune Essence mine, which Zamorakian organisations such as the Zamorakian Magical Institute were attempting to steal. The Wizards' Tower was also known for having created most spells currently used today, as well as many magical theses and theorems. The tower was run by Archmage Sedridor, a very enthusiastic and bubbly old chap who happily welcomed visitors into the tower and would chat their ears off about its history.

As he searched for a certain textbook on the floating shelves, the archmage saw Jahaan in his peripheral vision, who was being signed in by Valina, the entrance clerk.

"Jahaan, Jahaan come in!" Archmage Sedridor greeted him, ushering him inside. "We were beginning to worry about you, you seemed so frantic last time, son. It was quite troubling."

"It was a stressful time," Jahaan replied, an understatement that Archmage Sedridor accepted with a deepening frown.

"Yes, yes poor Ozan… we've done all we can for him, I assure you. We treated his burns and prevented infection, but there's still some lasting damage, you see. I'm afraid his skin will never truly heal."

Jahaan winced. He knew Ozan's narcissism well, reflected in his reply, "Let me guess, he's taking the damage to his face the worst, right?"

Sniffing a humourless laugh, Sedridor confirmed, "He does mention it often."

The two made it to the medical bay in good time; the door was ajar. Inside, Jahaan could hear the pleasant chattering between Ozan and Ariane, and he held back for a while. Archmage Sedridor left to attend to other business, leaving Jahaan to rest against a neighbouring pillar. He couldn't make out too much from what was said, but noted how Ozan's usual full-bodied laugh was weaker now, punctuated by tight coughs. The sound made Jahaan's throat close up.

Finally, he realised he couldn't hold it off any longer and gently pushed the door open, its ear-piercing creak signalling his arrival.

Once the two locked eyes, Ariane's face grew dark, her expression cold. She feigned a reassuring smile to Ozan, muttered a few words - seemingly making her excuses to leave - and gathered up Coal, who was chewing on the bed linen. She edged past Jahaan at the door without sending him another glance. Even Ozan couldn't spin it, offering nothing but a sympathetic smile and a light shrug. He was propped up against the head of the bed, still in nightwear, with bandages taping his arms and half of his face. He looked like an incomplete mummy, something which Jahaan didn't decide to voice, just in case Ozan's sense of humour wasn't fully recovered.

Luckily, Ozan broke the tension, pointing to his own face and saying, "Fenkenstrain's suing me for ripping off his creation."

It wasn't that funny, but Jahaan laughed. Like, properly laughed, doubling over with tears in his eyes. He was just so… _relieved_. The relief was such that it felt as if a phantom had left his soul in a jolt, similar to how he felt after Zaros disembarked his body, though without the unwelcomed loss of consciousness that followed.

Awkwardly, Jahaan sat down on the edge of Ozan's bed. He really didn't know where to start - an apology, a check on his health, on his spirits, an explanation… there was too much he needed to cover. So, he allowed Ozan to make the first move.

"I haven't seen you for a while," Ozan mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. He was clearly sensing the awkwardness too. "Was getting worried, y'know… Ariane told me what happened."

Meeting Jahaan's eyes, he finally asked, "Did you get him? That Mahjarrat guy?"

"Zemouregal? Yeah, he's dead," Jahaan replied with a shaky breath.

"You shouldn't have gone after him. You could have gotten yourself killed."

With a humourless chuckle, Jahaan said, "Ozan, have you ever known me to let anything go? I had to. I had to… to try and make it right. Ozan, I'm so sorry. I'm so-"

"Let me stop you right there," Ozan interejected, a calming hand reaching out to Jahaan. "You have nothing to apologise for, okay? You never could have guessed what was gonna happen."

Laughing softly, Ozan added, "Heck, with all the enemies I've made over the years, our roles could have easily been reversed."

"But can you honestly tell me that, if the roles were reversed, you wouldn't feel guilty?"

Ozan remained quiet, accepting this.

After a long pause, Ozan lightly nudged Jahaan on the arm, tried to raise his voice a tad as he said, "Damn, man. It's like a morgue in here. I haven't died or anything!"

Unfortunately, the act preceded a bout of coughs, Ozan shrugging Jahaan off as he reached over to pat his back. "I'm fine, Jahaan. The coughing thing's gonna go in time they say. It doesn't hurt that much. My skin, on the other hand…" Ozan's frown deepened into a comical pout. "The fire's done a number on my pretty-boy good looks…"

Motioning to his own fire-scarred face, Jahaan dryly remarked, "Well, at least we match now."

Sniffing a chuckle, Ozan said, "We could start a double act called 'How Not To Play With Fire'. I'm sure Ariane would lend us some runes."

Jahaan winced. "Ah yes, Ariane."

"She's taking it a lot worse than I am. I think it's best if you stay out of her eye-line for a while," Ozan winked, his face contorting slightly from what used to be such a simple action.

Trying to hide the sorrow in his features, Jahaan forced himself to smirk as he replied, "Good idea."

Noticing how Ozan's eyes were starting to close, Jahaan realised this little catch-up had probably exhausted the poor fellow who should be conserving what little energy he had at this point. So, Jahaan helped him lie back down on the bed, saying he'd visit again soon. Knowing Ariane's stance on things, Jahaan wasn't sure when that would be.

"Bring booze next time," Ozan drearily called out before turning over and burying himself in the comfy pillow.

His heart heavy, Jahaan watched Ozan's steady breathing for a few moments. It was serene - just the simple action of seeing his best friend in a peaceful sleep after all he'd been through was reassuring.

Quietly, he made his way out of the chamber, careful not to move the door for fear the creaking would startle Ozan awake.

When he turned around, Ariane was greeting him with a stern face, her arms folded over her chest. Seeing her seemingly manifest out of nowhere surprised Jahaan, causing him to jump slightly.

"How long have you been there?" Jahaan hissed, catching his breath.

Ariane didn't answer, instead motioning for Jahaan to follow. Leading him into a small study, Ariane closed the door behind them, and from the look on her face, Jahaan knew he was in for a rough time.

"So you killed him, then? This Mahjarrat?" it sounded more like an accusation than a mere question.

Raising his chin, Jahaan confirmed, "Yes, I did."

Ariane did not seem impressed, her eyes boring holes through the man.

"Look, what is your problem with me?" Jahaan hissed, advancing on Ariane, who didn't step back. "I know you think I'm a bad influence on Ozan, but the man's no monk. What matters is that we both care deeply for him, you and I. I'd rather die than let anything happen to him, and I'm pretty sure you know that already. So tell me, please, what have I done to piss you off so greatly?"

"Other than nearly letting Ozan get burned alive?"

"You hated me before that," Jahaan countered. "So come on. Did Ozan tell you about how I grew up? Is it the people I've killed? What?"

"You really want to know?" Ariane snapped, storming forward with such force it made Jahaan back up on instinct. "It's your attitude, Jahaan. Your callousness, your naivety, your self-centred view on everything. Ever since you became the Word Guardian it's only gotten worse. The world is falling apart and I don't think you know, let alone care. Do you ever read the newspapers, Jahaan?"

Wary of where this was going, Jahaan hesitantly answered, "I hear bits and pieces…"

It became apparent rather quickly that Jahaan did not hear enough; Ariane filled him in on all the _delightful_ things he'd missed on his travels, such as the dangerous antics of the Godless.

The Godless are a faction of those opposed to deities being on Gielinor, similar in many ways to the Guthixian views, but with one key difference.

They were violent.

Guthixians would preach about how Guthix banished the gods from Gielinor to protect the world from them. They relied on churches, emissaries and sermons to convey their message to the general populous. The Godless, on the other hand, took it upon themselves to wage war against every god and their followers. They believed no-one should worship a deity, that we were the masters of our own destiny and do not need to follow behind a divine being in order to have worth in our lives.

Before the gods returned to Gielinor and the Sixth Age commenced, the Godless were an incredibly small faction, for almost everyone on Gielinor stood behind a banner of some sort. Now that the gods had returned and they were starting to cause a ruckus, more people were becoming sympathetic to their cause.

The Battle of Lumbridge was their single greatest recruiting tool since their inception.

The Godless would attack and deface shrines during the night, would tear apart churches and harass emissaries. They were lawless, worked underground and distributed propaganda wherever they could.

However, their petty destruction was nothing compared to what the former Bandosians had caused.

After Bandos' defeat, the vast majority of his followers had defected to the avian deity, erecting shrines and even taking to books and _studying _the ways of Armadyl. They were helped with the whole 'learning-to-read-thing' by emissaries of Armadyl, who set up roaming caravans to teach the former Bandosian loyalists the preachings of their new god.

Sounds great, doesn't it? Well, old habits die hard, and it would take a lot more than a few commandments and pretty shrines to undo centuries of Bandosian indoctrination. Thus, instead of gradually trying to convert the remaining Bandoanian loyalists - as the emissaries said they should - they went out and systematically hunted them all down.

It was convert or die; any hesitation on the former signed your death sentence.

Goblin and ogre settlements especially were bloodbaths, sometimes even spilling into nearby human settlements, and people often got caught in the crossfire.

The Dorgeshuun, a peaceful tribe of hunter-gatherer goblins that had existed beneath the surface of southern Misthalin, were brought to the brink of extinction. The Dorgeshuun, largely non-religious, did not partake in the battle against Armadyl, and had defied Bandos for years by refusing to submit to his warlike ways. Bandos had planned to wipe them out as soon as he defeated Armadyl, and resolved to make such a day a national holiday. After Bandos' death, the remaining Bandosian loyalists looked for a scapegoat, someone to blame for their god's demise, and they settled upon the Dorgeshuun.

They were exterminated before the ex-Bandosian Armadyleans could arrive, who had similar plans for their slaughter.

It wasn't just converted Bandosians that Armadyl had amassed into his following; more and more humans, particularly Saradominists, were growing increasingly interested in the avian deity's philosophy. Saradominism and Armadylean beliefs overlapped quite a lot, making the two religions close allies back in the God Wars of old. Now though, more people were getting exposed to Armadylean teachings, and after the way Saradomin helped to tear apart Lumbridge, those same people were becoming open to the idea of supporting a new deity.

This did not go down well with Saradomin; tensions were rising between the two factions, but it had yet to come to a head.

And then came the Zamorakian invasion of Ardougne.

Hazeel and Khazard, along with Zamorakian armies, had marched into Ardougne only last week, taking control of the territory and pushing the warring gnomes - who were already locked in battle with the Khazard troops - out within days. The combined might of the Mahjarrat and their forces was too much for the gnomes alone to handle. Fortunately, Saradominist soldiers had come to the aid of the city, and now a joint Saradominist-Guthixian alliance was fighting to take back Ardougne.

If the Battle of Lumbridge was the first major battle of the Third God Wars, this would be the second. The Armadyl/Bandos scuffle was on a different level - more isolated and less destructive. This time, they're were battling through the streets of the largest city in the Kingdom of Kandarin.

The Saradominist effort to halt Zamorakian advances in the Kandarin Kingdom forced Saradomin to delay his plans for Morytania, or so rumour has it. It was mere whisperings at this stage, but it was told that Saradomin planned to reignite his desired conquest of Morytania, taking it out of the hands of the Zamorakians (Lord Drakan especially) and liberating the people of Meiyerditch, returning it to its former glory of the Hallowland.

Thanks to two asshole Mahjarrat, that had to be put on hold.

The God Wars were beginning again; at the rate things were going, it wouldn't be long before an all-out conflict arose.

"You triggered this, Jahaan," Ariane finished, gravely. "I know it was you who Sliske managed to trick into letting him into Guthix's chamber. Now, the very Mahjarrat that deceived you, the very Mahjarrat you're somehow so chummy with, is the one that's allowed the world to be torn apart, and instead of trying to stop him, you locked yourself in petty revenge. You're the WORLD GUARDIAN Jahaan - it's time you started acting like one."

Moving towards the door, Ariane peered briefly over her shoulder with darkness in her eyes. "Actions have consequences, Jahaan. Start thinking of the bigger picture."

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	36. Quest 09: Our Spirits, Kindred (Ch1)

**Quest 09: Our Spirits, Kindred**

**Chapter 1 - Grip of the Gods**

When Ariane is kidnapped and the signs point to Sliske, Jahaan is forced to confront the Mahjarrat once again. But this time, things take a turn for the twisted, and Jahaan uncovers the truth behind Sliske's obsession with him. Can Jahaan survive Sliske's games? After all, broken bones heal faster than a broken mind...

* * *

High above the clouds, Armadyl and his avianse were housed in a temporary cloud fortress that they had erected upon their return to Gielinor. The Empyrean Citadel was unsuitable for housing their numbers, after all. That, and it had been tainted by Sliske's presence. So, they had to build themselves temporary lodgings, for you can't exactly spread the avianse across the bed and breakfasts of Misthalin. It helped that the avianse were known for being skilled carpenters. One wouldn't think that upon looking at them, but never judge a book by its cover.

Looking out towards the horizon of a new dawn, Armadyl stood in quiet contemplation. He'd been trying to work through the turmoils of the last few years in solitude, taking to meditating at the break of day. While doing this, he'd organise his current stresses and plan ways to deal with them by prioritising the most pressing issues and working backwards. He didn't want to worry his generals by showing just how much it was eating at him to be back on Gielinor. When they'd first arrived on Gielinor in the Second Age, they were escaping their homeworld of Abbinah, looking for peace and community in a pure world that was rich in resources, a world that would allow them to prosper without the threat of constant storms and hurricanes raging above, a world that didn't require ritual sacrifice of the elderly to relieve the burden on the young.

Gielinor was that perfect world.

Now, it was being ravaged by war, just as it was many centuries ago. Those who forget the past were doomed to repeat it, and Armadyl was not going to let what happened to his avianse on that fateful day ever happen again.

Now, new issues had arisen, namely his 'prize' of inheriting the vast majority of Bandosians after he'd slain their god. Honestly, he didn't expect that to happen. Not that he didn't welcome the challenge of teaching a new group that there was a way of life beyond war, a way of life instead driven by peace and justice. But undoing eons of Bandosian indoctrination had left him with his hands full. Understaffed and unprepared, Armadylean forces had been stretched thin.

And then, Armadyl had heard about the fate of the Dorgesh-Kaan.

The guilt of being unable to prevent this genocide, one execuated in his name, was clawing at his heart.

Kree'arra entered onto the balcony, tentatively calling out, "My lord?"

Shuddering, Armadyl tried to briefly take the Dorgesh-Kaan out of his mind. Turning to the general, he attempted a warm smile. "Come, Kree'arra. What news do you bring?"

"Nothing positive, my lord," Kree'arra regretfully admitted. "The situation in Ardougne is growing worse by the day, and our scouts are no closer to finding Sliske and your Staff."

Armadyl wasn't disappointed. Not really, anyway. In both matters, he'd expected as much. The reports had plateaued, and he didn't expect much of an improvement anytime soon.

"Kree'arra," Armadyl's tone was resigned, yet resolved. "If the situation here on Gielinor continues to deteriorate, I am not putting my people in harm's way by remaining. We shall depart this world and find somewhere else to nest, with or without my Staff. Power is nothing if my people are lost, like I thought they were all those years ago."

"But where would we go, my lord?" Kree'arra asked, softly. "We cannot return to Abbinah."

"Of course not, but I have an idea… it may be a long shot, yes, but we might be able to save those left behind on Abbinah, and create a new home for all of the avianse. Say, Kree'arra… what do you know of Tarddiad."

Furrowing his brow, Kree'arra replied, "The homeland of the elves? Little, my lord. It is known as a land covered in trees."

"And mountaintops, waterfalls, lush vegetation…" Armadyl added, growing in excitement. "I have a plan. Seren cares a lot for her elves - she's a compassionate being, kinder than all the other gods I have encountered. Our people are skilled craftsmen and healers, so we could help her people in numerous ways. If I can persuade Seren to share the skies of Tarddiad with us, we needn't ever want for resources or stability ever again. We would be safe, Kree'arra!"

His frown deepening, Kree'arra averted his gaze from the diety's. Armadyl had always been a dreamer, but Kree'arra found himself to be a pessimist by nature, always hating to ground the idealistic musings of his god. "That would be wonderful, my lord… but do you really think Seren would give up part of sovereignty over Tarddiad to us?"

"It would take some convincing, yes," Armadyl accepted. "But I shall discuss the idea with her upon our next encounter. Hopefully she will see the merits in my proposal."

Turning back towards the horizon, Armadyl's tone was wistful, yet determined, as he said, "I will find a home for us, Kree'arra. I will save the avianse…"

It was a dreary Essianday in Lumbridge, but as Essianday was the Saradominist holy day of the week, church was in service. Father Urhney, an irritable priest, was leading the congregation. Never in a good mood, the wild-haired priest detested being back in the town of Lumbridge, having moved into the swamps to the south not so long ago in an attempt to spend two years in silent meditation and prayer. However, every time someone bothered him with conversation, he forced himself to start over. Hence, he was a rather grumpy fellow.

Since the end of the Battle of Lumbridge, the town's residents - usually devout Saradominists - had been attending services less and less, meaning that the coffers at the front were a lot lighter than usual. Considering this was how the priests gained an income in the town, it was a worry for them all, even those who had isolated themselves in a swampy shack.

The reason for the drop in attendance was due to a rise in Godless and Armadylean supporters who had turned from Saradomin after the Battle of Lumbridge was concluded. Turns out, not many people care to have their town demolished and the deity they pray to walk away without so much as an apology.

The priest that usually ran the quaint little service was Father Aereck, a frail and subdued man, who was not well equipped to deal with the challenge of regaining Saradominist support in Lumbridge.

Because of this, Father Urhney forced himself from his little shack and ventured back into the town to take over regular services. Today was his first one, and word had gotten around about his return, so the church was a lot fuller than normal. It turned out that a lot of people had questions they wanted answered, and Father Aereck was not doing the job for them, so they made the most of utilising Father Urhney's time.

But upon hearing the white noise of chattering, questions, demands and a few stray insults, Father Urhney regretted his life choices. Irritably shaking his head, he raised his hands in an attempt to calm the congregation.

This achieved nothing.

Gritting his teeth, he squinted his eyes tightly and exclaimed, "Please, one at a time! Saradomin only has two ears, and so do I."

Fortunately, that was enough to subdue them, but it wouldn't last long. So, capitalising on the silence, he motioned to a man in the front row, one of the rowdier members who was chomping at the bit to speak.

"Why should we follow Saradomin anymore?" the man asked, a loaded question if there ever was one. "He left our town in ruins. I heard about this Armadyl guy - he seems to be a stand up fella, preachin' justice and peace and all that."

"He went to war with Bandos in open conflict," Father Urhney countered, rolling his eyes. "Not very peaceful if you ask me. But yes, before you say it, Bandos was a threat that needed to be neutralised. He's dead now. Zamorak is still out there, causing chaos. He's invaded Ardougne! Where's Armadyl now? He's left those people there to fend for themselves, whereas Saradomin has sent his forces to battle the dark Zamorak head on. Peace can only be achieved once Saradomin takes his rightful place as the only god in Gielinor. There is a pattern to the ascendance and collapse of civilisation - a cycle of tragedy. Saradomin has the knowledge to break this cycle, and most importantly, the will to lead everyone forwards. Gielinor, and other worlds, would be brought into a new age. A utopia. Other gods can claim this, but only Saradomin has the experience necessary to make it happen. Alas, utopia must sometimes be built on bones, so let the lesser gods be the foundation. Then, Saradomin can lead everyone to a glorious future!"

"Lead? You mean, he wants to control everyone?" a disgruntled man in the second row called out, earning a few concurring nods and mumbles from the rest of the attendees.

Father Urhney tried his best to keep his tone measured as he replied, "You say that as though it were a bad thing. People need governments, leaders and structures. Just as freedom doesn't mean anarchy, control doesn't have to mean slavery. Saradomin offers guidance and leadership, law and order. Under his 'control', people could thrive. Everyone would have the reassurance that they know where they belong and how they should behave. Deep down, everyone wants to know where they sit in the world. What you call control, I would argue is true freedom. Freedom to know how life should be lived and how to fulfil one's potential."

"I heard from my niece in Ardougne that there's a Mahjarrat-y fellow running around with one of them there elder weapons! He's gonna use it to destroy everyone!"

This statement came out of nowhere, interrupting the contemplative quiet that had arose following Father Urhney's response. For all his personal foibles, Father Urhney was incredibly devout and the conviction from which he spoke could turn even the most stubborn of heads.

But now, that peace had been ruined, and naturally, the congregation went into panicked uproar. Some of the Lumbridge folk were rural and quite traditional in their beliefs, but they knew enough to decide that the Mahjarrat were bad, and one having an Elder Weapon was worse. Of course, this was a gross oversimplification, one that a lot of Mahjarrat would take umbrage to, but the public perception was hard to change, and Sliske running around with the Stone of Jas was doing little to help matters.

The lack of Saradominist Mahjarrat didn't help either.

Having heard Brother Samwell's tale of Sliske, Icthlarin and the Empyrean Citadel, Father Urhney was a lot more knowledgeable on what was really going on in the world in comparison to his congregation. Deciding that giving at least a little bit of context could assist in both settling the nerves of the churchgoers and prove that he and his fellow priests were in-the-know, Father Urhney once again silenced the crowd and said, "Calm down, everyone. If you let me talk, I can quell some of these exaggerated rumours. Now, firstly, yes, there's a Mahjarrat who has the Stone of Jas, and-QUIET! For Saradomin's sake, can you let me finish?! Yes, the rumours are true, but Saradomin is fighting to get the Stone back into his safekeeping, and he WILL succeed. He will take the fight to all the other gods, and this Mahjarrat, and the Stone will be his once again. That's why he needs your support!"

"Why Saradomin?" one of the men at the back piped up, pushing off from the wall he was leaning against. "Why not another god, or heck, how about NO god?"

"The Stone will fall into someone's hands, it cannot simply go no-where and belong to no-one," Father Urhney grumbled, shaking his head with an irritated sigh. "Saradomin has wielded the Stone before, wisely and with care, and he shall do so again. Can you say such of the others? The dark Zamorak would use it to destroy the world; Zaros would enslave it to his will, and grow more dangerous than ever; Armadyl has no idea what to do with such power, and would destroy himself with his naivety; and Seren would use its power only in support of her precious elves. Saradomin, on the other hand, will use its power with wisdom and compassion, for the betterment of ALL life on Gielinor. Now, are there any more questions?"

Once he saw almost every hand in the room shoot up, it took everything in Father Urhney's power to not storm out and end the service early.

The dragonkin were a race of powerful and intelligent dragon-like creatures that originated from the previous cycle of the universe, a handful of them having survived the revision of the universe by hiding in the Abyss. The surviving dragonkin sought out Jas for mercy or retribution, only to end up being bound to her Catalyst - the Stone of Jas - and were tasked with protecting it at all costs. When the Stone was used by a being other than Jas, they were cursed to feel great pain and suffering that could only be eased by violence and rampage. Thus, tales of the dragonkin speak of a malevolent and dangerous species.

There were two factions of the dragonkin on Gielinor. The first, the Dactyl dragonkin, who repress the urge to cause destruction and kill 'False Users'. Instead, they undertake research and perform experiments in an attempt to sever their connection to the Stone of Jas. The other faction were the Necrosyrtes, a war-like faction comprised of those who have given into their urge to cause destruction. Kerapac belonged to the former, and had dedicated his life to ridding the dragonkin of Jas' curse.

On this night, Kerapac was found huddled over one of the journals he was writing, locked inside his cramped and dimly lit study. He and his fellow draginkin had been forced from their home at the heart of Daemonheim when Bilrach tunnelled deep into its depths. Realistically, they could have fought off any intruder, but were against revealing themselves to the world at such a time. In fact, if Kerapac had his way, they would still be an unknown presence in Gielinor. Unfortunately, Sithaph and Strisath had taken matters into their own hands, succeeding at retrieving the Staff of Armadyl (momentarily) but falling short of safeguarding the Stone. After all, they didn't have the power to teleport the Stone to safety by themselves. They were brutes, weaklings - _kath_, as they were known in the dragonkin language. And thanks to them, the world knew about the existence of the dragonkin.

Kerapac had self-proclaimed himself as the 'Observer', watching over the affairs of Gielinor with patience and detachment. Until now, that is. With Sliske's slaying of Guthix and bringing back the gods to Gielinor, the world was in upheaval, and Kerapac could sense the disturbance beneath him. The Elder Gods would awaken soon, they would hatch their spawn, and so the universe would restart once again, just like it did eons ago. Kerapac sensed it then, and managed to hide some of his people away… but he knew he would not be so lucky this time.

But while they were still bound to the Stone, there was very little the dragonkin could do.

Kerapac knew that the time for observation was over, and he formulated a plan. Many plans, in fact - Kerapac was not a being to leave much to chance. If successful, this latest idea would leave the Elder Mirror in his possession. The Elder Mirror was used by the Elder Gods for large-scale creation, being able to create copies of things. Currently, the dragonkin had tracked down its location to a being known simply as 'V', the god of the Fremennik people.

As of now, V had kept to himself, choosing to isolate himself and his people from the current affairs of the other deities, along with the chase for the Stone of Jas.

Kerapac had no qualms about killing him. He'd slaughter civilisations if it meant his fellow dragonkin could finally be free.

Other such plans had yet to return positive results; no dragonkin had managed to locate Sliske, as of yet, and the search for the other Elder Artifacts wasn't going so well. Twelve were known, but only a handful were even obtainable. The Siphon and the Catalyst - colloquially known as the Staff of Armadyl and the Stone of Jas, respectively - were in Sliske's possession. The Locator, also known as the Crown Archival, was able to find other Elder Artifacts, though only ones of considerably less power. It would prove incredibly useful to any deity, and indeed to the dragonkin, but it was currently held by Saradomin, who Kerapac knew had too much power and support to take on directly. Others, such as The Kiln, were useless to the dragonkin, only used for creating TokHaar workers to shape the world. And then there were the artefacts that were lost to time and space, those that may not even be on Gielinor, such as The Codex and The Template. Kerapac only knew of their existence due to his past proximity to the Stone of Jas, something that granted him knowledge most mortals could only dream of.

So many artefacts, so many gods, so little time.

But for now, Kerapac kept writing in his journal, documenting his work to save his people from the curse brought upon them by a being as old as the universe. If it meant killing a god, or numerous gods, he would do so. If it meant challenging Sliske directly, he would do so. If it meant laying down his own life so that his descendents could live without suffering, he would do so.

The small study Sliske had carved out for himself was dimly lit in the glow of only two candles. It made the knife-work he was undertaking much more of a challenge, having to refrain from slicing off his own fingers with the sharp blade, but this helped him focus more, to concentrate on the task at hand instead of letting his mind drift to unwanted realms. Unfortunately, that suffocating feeling always managed to creep inside, rattling with voices that were always his own, always familiar, yet simultaneously alien.

The voices had been there since he was young, and he'd managed to keep them a secret from the rest of his tribe. Except from his brother, that is, who was the only one he could confide in at such a young age. These voices didn't worry him, and from what he'd gathered from his time amongst humans, many of them were subject to the same conditions.

_Perhaps Mahjarrat are susceptible too? Perhaps I'm not the only one?_

He didn't know, and venturing such a notion would have led him down a rabbit hole, perhaps even to the Marker.

So, they were kept a secret.

Well, for the most part; Relomia - Sliske's emissary, someone who often lurked in Sliske's lair whenever the Mahjarrat would permit company - had often heard her master mutter to himself when in the depths of deep thought, conversing with himself like he wasn't the only one in the room. It troubled her, to hear some of the things her master would say, but she didn't dare confront him, for he might not take too kindly to the notion she had been eavesdropping all this time.

Whittling wooden masks was Sliske's favourite way to de-stress; whenever he felt overwhelmed by anything and needed to clear his mind, or simply narrow it enough to fix a troubling part of a plan, he would take a knife and carve theatrical masks. Some of them he would enchant, for the humour in it, but the vast majority he would burn.

There was never much subtlety or nuance in Sliske's masks. For a being that prided himself on being unreadable, his wooden creations undercut that entirely. Sliske had already carved eight masks this evening alone and was working on his ninth. This mask, however, was blank. Not that he had yet to carve an emotion into it, but the mask itself portrayed emotionless.

"You've been waiting for this your entire lifetime," Sliske growled lowly to himself. "If you don't act now, it may be too late. Gods know you have a target on your back…"

"You shouldn't have told him. You should have known he would betray you."

"Why did you tell him? Why did you think honesty would get you anywhere? It never has and it never will."

"He went behind your back. He was never going to fulfil the agreement."

"Why did you think he would be any different?"

"You thought you could reason with him? Bargain for something so precious? You fool."

"What is wrong with you?" he hissed with disgust, causing his knife hand to slip and accidentally slice his into his thumb. The wound wasn't deep, but claret still trickled across the mask's face, dripping through the eyehole and into a small puddle beneath him. "He wouldn't be persuaded so easily. Be reasonable. Plan A was a longshot - you knew that. So, you'll just have to do things the hard way..."

After a few more minutes of bloodstained whittling, Sliske held the mask up to admire his handiwork, though instead regarded it with nothing more than a heavy glare of disinterest. He tossed it into the corner.

Rising to his feet, he walked over to the pile of masks he'd accumulated over the last few months. It took up a fair bit of space; Sliske was holding off on burning them until he could justify a bonfire. "Everything is ready. Soon, he'll be ready too. A few hours and it'll all be over. You'll be safe, forever. It's what you've always wanted. Immortality is within reach, so don't let those ridiculous notions of yours get in the way. After all, you'll forget him in time."

He reached among the pile and found a mask with a wicked sneer carved into it. Holding it up to his face, he mimicked the expression inside the mask. "Yes, it won't be long now…"

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	37. Quest 09: Our Spirits, Kindred (Ch2)

**Quest 09: Our Spirits, Kindred**

**Chapter 2 - Rest for the Weary**

When Ariane is kidnapped and the signs point to Sliske, Jahaan is forced to confront the Mahjarrat once again. But this time, things take a turn for the twisted, and Jahaan uncovers the truth behind Sliske's obsession with him. Can Jahaan survive Sliske's games? After all, broken bones heal faster than a broken mind...

* * *

After leaving the Wizards' Tower, Jahaan was at a loss. Between Ozan's condition and Ariane's cutting words, his head was swirling. The effects of the pain relievers had also worn off, so he was fighting through the dull aching of his ribs, knowing there wasn't an apothecary in Draynor. Well, not one that he would trust, anyway, and he didn't want to get desperate enough to seek aid from the resident witches.

And so he just started walking. He didn't know what else to do. He walked on throughout the day and well into the evening, following the water's edge around Draynor Village. Since he was veering west, Jahaan settled upon Port Sarim as his destination, camping in a small clearing for the night. It wasn't as peaceful as when he did it in Catherby, mind. Jahaan was still too close to Draynor, and the constant grey clouds that draped over the town caused a constant chill in the air. On top of that, it took too long to find firewood that wasn't damp, and despite having his backpack with his small fishing net on him, all he was able to catch was a couple of tiny shrimp that barely did enough to sate his appetite. Rocks and sharp leaves dug into his back and exposed skin all night long, worsened by the amount he was tossing and turning from the aching of his ribs.

Utterly miserable, Jahaan left the next dawn with about an hour's sleep in his system.

Port Sarim had repaired the damage since his last visit there. In fact, you couldn't tell the port town had been subject to a dragonkin attack at all. The buildings had been fixed and the scorch marks long since painted over. He did recognise Patchy though, standing outside the bar and sporting a rather snazzy peg-leg. Those things were quite the fashion with pirates, after all.

Jahaan remarked to himself how it was nice to see the pirate back on his feet, but quickly regretted the poor choice of words.

Without even stopping for a drink, Jahaan took the first boat he could out to Catherby, revelling in the change of climate as he approached the pristine shores. It felt like eons ago when Jahaan mused to himself about settling down in Catherby. Right now, he couldn't think of anything he wanted more.

And so, after venturing slightly into the wooded area, he built himself a fire, readied his net to catch some more substantial fish, and breathed a sigh of relief as he realised the only sounds he could hear were the swishing of the waves and the low cry of distant seagulls.

The next day, Jahaan found Postie Pete and sent a letter to Ozan, wishing him well and saying how he'd be in Catherby for the foreseeable future. However, he never heard back. After two weeks, Jahaan managed to find Postie Pete and ask how Ozan seemed when he delivered the letter. It turned out that Ariane was taking in all of Ozan's mail, which explained why Jahaan wasn't receiving any correspondence.

"If you see him yourself, can you wish him well for me?" Jahaan asked with a lump in his throat. He didn't want Ozan to think he wasn't bothering to write to him, after all.

Instead, Postie Pete had been hurt at the thought of his mail being intercepted. Ariane said he'd give the letter straight to Ozan, and she'd lied.

"I'll do one better, mate," the skull rattled as its jaw bones knocked together. "You write another one, and I'll make sure to hand it to him personally this time. It's my honour and duty as a postman for the Gielinorian Postal Service to make sure every letter is delivered promptly and with integrity!"

Jahaan loved how seriously Postie Pete took his work - it was admirable. So, he took him up on his offer straight away, quickly writing out a new letter and placing it in the skull's mouth. Then, Postie Pete went on his way.

Regular correspondence returned between Jahaan and Ozan after that. Much to his relief, Jahaan heard that Ozan was recuperating rather well, enough to abandon bedrest. Still, he was too weak to do much other than bumble around the Wizards' Tower, to which he confessed his worst ailment was severe cabin fever.

They didn't even have booze there.

His burns has scarred over a fair bit, but they were still hurting him a great deal. Out of curiosity, he tried to draw back an old bow he'd found when wandering around in the basement. However, he barely got halfway to the bowstring being taunt before his muscles gave out and he couldn't take the pain anymore. The wizards had thrown around the idea of potential nerve damage and said that recovery would be a slow process, but with the right amount of rest and rehabilitation, he would be able to wield a bow again. From the outset though, it looked like Jahaan's ribs would heal long before Ozan's wounds.

Jahaan had already withdrawn his sword and armour set from the bank, trying to reaccustom himself to the weight and feel of it all. There was no longer an issue with donning the armour - his body could handle that after the many weeks that had passed - but the swords were still an issue. Wielding with his right hand was no problem, and he could spar and parry almost as good as he always could. His left side, however, was another matter. Each swing would lightly stab at him, gradually getting worse and worse. He couldn't practice for more than a few minutes at a time before the pain became too much.

So for now, duel wielding was out of the question, but he was optimistic about his recovery.

Jahaan wished he could say the same about Ozan. He wanted to go back and visit him, but thought better of it. Regardless of Ariane's feelings towards him, Ozan was getting good care in the Wizards' Tower and he didn't need anyone distracting him from that.

At least, that's what Jahaan kept telling himself.

In spite of it all, Jahaan couldn't picture himself leaving Catherby anytime soon. He'd gotten back into the routine of fishing for the majority of the day and selling what he didn't need to eat, accumulating a tiny sum as the days went on. It was calming, and he could pretend he wasn't the World Guardian for a while, as selfish as that may be.

But that calm was slashed into fragments when he saw Ozan get off the boat at Catherby dock.

Jahaan was just finishing up selling his surplus supply for the day and planned to stop for a drink or two at the port's pub. As the fishmonger was counting his coins, Jahaan casually observed the passengers disembarking the charter ship from Draynor, and had to do a double take when he saw a familiar figure coming his way. Dark quiffed hair, yellow and green tunic, bandages wrapping the exposed skin on his arms… there was no mistaking it.

Abandoning the merchant, Jahaan quickly rushed to intercept him, a grin as wide as the boat's sail. "Ozan!"

However, when he got close enough to lock eyes with the man, his grin vanished in a heartbeat.

"Jahaan! I'm so glad I found you," Ozan was breathless, his face red and his eyes bloodshot. He looked like… he'd been crying.

Pulling Ozan out of the path of people, Jahaan's concern flooded his tone as he urged, "Ozan, are you okay? What's wrong?!"

"I-It's Ariane!" Ozan sniffed. "She's been kidnapped!"

"What?!" Jahaan gasped, pressing Ozan for more information.

Trying to steady his breathing, Ozan explained, "W-We were visiting Draynor. I went into a store, she waited outside. There was a loud screech, and then she was gone! No-one really saw anything, it all happened so fast! B-But they said someone was taken the day before, too, by some vyre-like creature, or a large bird, or something, I don't know! I panicked, I didn't know what to do! S-So I came to you as fast as I could. They took _Ariane_, Jahaan!"

In an effort to calm down his hysterical friend, Jahaan pulled Ozan into a tight hug, assuring, "It's going to be okay. We'll get her back."

Pulling away, Jahaan asked, "Do you know anything else about these kidnappings? Anything that could help us?"

Ozan's voice turned dark. "Well, I heard that Relomia, the emissary of Sliske, was there when the other person was taken. She seemed… shocked."

"Sliske?" Jahaan blinked, confusion momentarily getting the best of him. Shaking those thoughts clear, he resolved, "Alright, we're going to Draynor right now to find out what she knows."

Unfortunately, Ozan had arrived on the last ship of the day, and there wouldn't be another one until the break of dawn. Luckily, Jahaan had built up quite a reputation with some of the ship's captains that he saw on a daily basis, and for double the fare, one of them agreed to sail throughout the night to land in Port Sarim by first light. Jahaan already had his armour and weapons with him, getting used to wearing it on a daily basis again, so they left immediately.

After arriving in Port Sarim the next morning, the two bribed a local fisherman to sail them across the short expanse of water between the port and Draynor Village. It cut down on hours worth of walking.

In Draynor, it was always night. Crows screamed incessantly, squawking bloody murder, becoming white noise to the villages residents. There was a reason house prices in Draynor were so low, and that's because those who pass through there generally don't want to do so again. Despite it being the nearest occupied settlement west of Lumbridge, the village's council isolated itself from politics of the surrounding towns and cities, providing for itself where it could to limit trade. No-one had ever seen these council members though; many speculated they were just a fabrication by the real power of Draynor, the occupant of the house on the hill. Draynor Manor was haunted, it was no small secret - the trees attacked anyone who dared approach the door. It is widely believed to be the final resting place of Count Draynor Draken himself. No-one had confirmed this for sure, because those who went inside Draynor Manor never returned.

Stalking through the paths leading them towards the dismal market square, Ozan and Jahaan kept their guard up, wary of the eyes following their every move.

Draynor didn't like outsiders.

It was behind the house of Aggie the Witch, the seller of clothing dyes, where Relomia was loitering.

The pair stormed up to her.

"All right, Relomia, start talking - what have you and Sliske done with Ariane?"

However, instead of the cocky response Jahaan was expecting, when Relomia turned around to face him, her eyes looked red and puffy, like she'd been crying. "Oh thank goodness! Jahaan, you have to help me! Sliske's been kidnapped!"

That… was not what he was expecting. "Come again?"

"It's the dragonkin!" she explained, breathless and sniffling. "I don't know what they did to him, but they found a way to strip him of his magic! He's powerless! He needs our help!"

Ozan shivered, gulping down the lump in his throat. "If the creatures that took Sliske also took Ariane..." he didn't dare to finish the thought.

Jahaan squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to regain some semblance of clarity inside his cluttered mind. "Okay, okay calm down… let's just take this one step at a time. I can see why the dragonkin would want Sliske - death to the False Users and all - but why would they take Ariane?"

"I don't know! But you have to get him back!" Relomia was practically begging. "And the Stone of Jas... my master's strong, but I don't know how long he can keep the location of the Stone a secret from them…"

Despite having a strong mind to tell Relomia that the dragonkin could keep that giggling, manipulative son of a bitch for all he cared, Jahaan knew he was over a barrel with this one; they had to get Ariane back, and Jahaan had seen firsthand the destruction the dragonkin could cause. If they utilised the power of the Stone…

Relenting, Jahaan announced, "Okay, if there's a chance the dragonkin took Ariane and Sliske, we'll try and get them back."

Relieved, Relomia leapt over to hug Jahaan tightly, colliding with his armour. Awkwardly, he patted her on the back until he was freed.

Straightening out his platebody, Jahaan cleared his throat and asked, "So what happened, exactly?"

Her shoulders sagging, Relomia replied, "I'm not sure. Sliske sent me a message from the Shadow Realm. He was surrounded by dragonkin and somehow stripped of his power. I know they haven't found the Stone yet, but it is only a matter of time."

The thought of facing off against dragonkin wasn't exactly something Jahaan was looking forward to. It only got worse after he inquired, "Do you know where they took him?"

"The last message Sliske sent me said he was in a dragonkin prison near Daemonheim."

Shoulders sagging, Jahaan was exasperated as he replied, "How do you expect us to get to Daemonheim? It's continents away!"

"Oh, right!" Relomia slapped her forehead before rummaging around in her napsack, eventually bringing out a small red and gold patterned ring. "This is a ring of kinship. It'll get you there in a jiffy. Just put it on and trace your finger over the patterns."

Ozan pulled out a similar ring from his pocket. "I'll meet you there."

From one awfully naff location to another, step right up: Daemonheim.

There was just so much SNOW.

In hindsight, a little more preparation wouldn't have gone amiss before teleporting to the wastelands. The castle protruded in the distance, a lumpy silhouette between the white mists and clouding fog. Beneath it, the dungeons of Daemonheim, floors upon floors of beasts, puzzles, mazes, traps and pitfalls. Beneath all that? Zamorak's current fortress.

Jahaan did not welcome the memory of being down there.

The pair walked among the ruins. Ghosts of dead warriors floated between the stones and broken statues. Some of these statues resembled dragonkin; it was widely believed that the location used to be home to a dragonkin lair, the lair of Kerapac specifically, but that was ancient history. Bilrach's construction of the dungeons beneath the castle seemed to cause a voluntary relocation. At least, that's what everyone thought. Perhaps they had kept some of their lair after all?

"Hey Jahaan, over there," Ozan pointed to a wooden trapdoor only partially covered by the snow. As the two trotted over, Ozan commented, "This wasn't here the last time I came by this area. Maybe this is the lair?"

Jahaan, on the other hand, didn't seem too convinced. "Hmm… I don't know… this looks like any regular trapdoor. Not very dragonkin-y, if you know what I mean."

"...Dragonkin-y?"

"I know, I know, but you hear what I'm saying, right?"

Ozan pondered this for a moment. "Maybe it's disguised?"

"Maybe…"

"It's still worth checking out," Ozan maintained, heaving the trapdoor open, sliding the snow off as he did.

Climbing down the ladder, the stone corridor was barely lit by more than a few candles scattered along the walls haphazardly. As it stretched far down into the darkness in both directions, the pair took their chances heading east.

"This seems pretty abandoned," Jahaan whispered. "I can't hear a thing."

Ozan nodded, biting his lip. "Do you think Relomia was confused?"

They made it to a crossroads, more corridors heading to the left and right, or they had the option to continue onwards.

"Maybe… maybe they're in the Shadow Realm?" Jahaan considered, coming to halt. He tried to focus on blurring the edges of this world and the Shadow Realm, as Sliske's gift had allowed, but before he could make any progress, a screeching scream came from their right, chilling them both to the core.

Jahaan slashed both of his swords from their sheaths, while Ozan tentatively removed his newly acquired bow from around his shoulders.

Gulping, Jahaan ventured, "S...Sliske?"

The sound of beating wings fast encroached on them, the glint of glowing red eyes zooming their way. It was fight or flight, and the former lost by a landslide. Instantly, Ozan and Jahaan took off running in the opposite direction, but it was too late. The creature caught up to them, there were screams, and then darkness…

When Jahaan opened his eyes, he was lying face down on a dirty concrete floor. From the lack of weight surrounding him as he tried to pull himself to his feet, he deduced that he'd been stripped of his armour and weapons.

"Congratulations, Janny. You 'saved' me from my own escape attempt."

Jahaan recognised that voice.

Nursing the back of his head, Jahaan could already feel the formations of a bruise. "Sliske? I got knocked out… what just happened? Where's Ozan?"

"Well, I was having a jolly old time making my getaway, before I got blocked by _someone_," Sliske chided, patronizingly. "Now we're in a slightly less escapable dragonkin prison, and our hosts have learned a thing or two since last time, so now the guard won't even talk to me. On the bright side, at least that means we can spend some quality time together!"

"Don't act so fucking cheerful," Jahaan snapped, whirling on Sliske, glad for the metal bars separating them. "Don't you remember how you left me in those tunnels? How you nearly throttled me to death?!"

"Ah, but only _nearly_, World Guardian," Sliske pointed out, raising his chin so dark lidded eyes looked down upon Jahaan. "You should do well to remember that. Besides, you killed Zemmy, so what does it matter?"

"Yeah, but your brother and I nearly got taken out in the process!"

"Wahi would never let an oaf like Zemouregal get the best of him," Sliske's chuckle had a sharp edge to it. "And you, you had really begun to test my patience. Be thankful I left you there."

"Thankful like I would be for a hole in my head," Jahaan muttered under his breath. Rubbing his aching temples, he was already regretting his decision to save this incorrigible fool. So, to prevent their conversation spiralling further down the rabbit hole, Jahaan wanted to get back on track. "So, the dragonkin - do they have the Stone yet?"

"Not right now," Sliske assured, nervously. It seemed as if he was just as happy with the change in topic. "But I've heard their mutterings… some of the things they've talked about doing to me, to make me reveal its location… it's gloriously disturbing. Sickeningly genius, in fact… but not when I'm on the receiving end of it."

"Well we can't let the dragonkin get their claws on the power of the Stone, and I need to find the others, so I'm going to try and find us a way out of here."

Sliske sighed, wistfully. "My hero!"

Jahaan shot him a look. "Shut up, or I'll change my mind."

Ignoring the chorus of chuckles that followed, Jahaan went about trying to examine his cell and the surroundings for any potential weakness to exploit. The dragonkin guard was staring blankly into the middle distance, not paying much attention to anything.

_If I can get the guard to come over here, I might be able to pickpocket a key or a weapon, _Jahaan thought, before grabbing onto his cell bars and angrily shouting out, "Hey! Scaly!"

Alas, the dragonkin ignored him.

"Hey, get over here!"

Again, he was ignored with not even a glance in his direction.

Sighing, Jahaan stepped back and reconsidered his options. Then, it came to him. _Maybe I can't get him to come over here by myself, but I bet he'll break up a brawl between Sliske and I… with the added bonus that I get to punch Sliske in the face_

Turning back over to Sliske, Jahaan gleefully, yet in a hushed tone, exclaimed, "Alright Sliske, I have an idea!"

"Great! Let's hear it."

"Okay, you have to let me punch you in the face."

"...I am now slightly less enthused about this plan…"

"Just hear me out," Jahaan insisted, explaining, "If we can brawl, the guard will hopefully come into the cells to break us up. That happens, and I can swipe a key or something to pick the lock."

Sliske's eyes lightened slightly at hearing the plan, but they were still narrow as he argued, "Riiiight, but how come you get to punch me in the face and not the other way around?"

"Because I don't trust you to pull your punches."

Sliske nodded, shrugging. "You know what? That's fair."

Reaching through the bars that separated them, Jahaan grabbed a fist full of Sliske's cloak and yanked him viciously, slamming the Mahjarrat's face into the steel, before throwing a fierce jab at him.

"Ow! That was right in the eye!" Sliske whined with a wince.

"Take that Sliske!" Jahaan growled, looking at the dragonkin out of the corner of his eye.

Seeing no response, he punched him again.

"Hey, what?! OW!" Sliske pulled himself free of Jahaan's grip and dabbed the back of his hand to his mouth. "I think my lip's bleeding!"

"He's not reacting," Jahaan fretted. "Maybe if I hit you again?"

Sliske countered, "Or maybe he'll react better to this!"

As quick as anything, the Mahjarrat reached through the bars, grabbed ahold of Jahaan's hair and slammed his head into the bars with painful force.

Laughing, Sliske surmised, "Well, looks like your plan didn't work after all."

After shooting Sliske a dirty look, Jahaan rubbed the side of his head and said, "I guess not, but I do have another idea."

"Good, but I'm not getting hit again."

"No need, _yet_," Jahaan assured with the flash of a crooked smile. "I've got another idea to get him over here. Watch this."

Walking over to the bars, Jahaan called out, "Hey you! Give us some food!"

Naturally, he was ignored, so he continued, "You know, I have an encyclopedic knowledge of nursery rhymes and a singing voice that can generously be described as '_grating'_. I also have capacious lungs and endless stamina. In combination, these things can make guarding me… _uncomfortable_."

Now, the guard at least turned an eye in his direction after this worrying development.

Challengingly, Jahaan threatened, "Give me some food or I'll sing 'The Littlest Pyrefiend' at the top of my lungs on an endless loop."

"Do it, you fool!" Sliske begged, desperately. "He's not bluffing!"

With a grunt, the dragonkin went to fetch something from out of sight, then shuffled back over and slotted some grotesque looking food on a dirty plate through the bars, but too quickly to make a grab for the keys.

Seeing this, Sliske slumped against the wall. "You had one job…"

Jahaan contended, "I didn't get the keys, but I think I can make a tool or a weapon out of this plate, as long as you can distract the guard long enough."

"And how do you suppose I do that?"

Exasperatedly, Jahaan wearily replied, "I don't know, Sliske! Tell him a story, insult him, seduce him - use your imagination!"

His eyes wide, Sliske couldn't help but burst out laughing. "SEDUCE him? Seduce the _dragonkin_? My, you really are one saucy devil, Janny."

"Just do _something_, Sliske," Jahaan huffed. "I'm going to scrape this gunk down the drain."

Shrugging, Sliske walked up to the front of his cell, cleared his throat and started, "Might I say, dear dragonkin, that your scales look _fabulous _in this light..."

When he forced the food down the drain, Jahaan noticed it fizz and bubble into an indescribable, gruesome mess below. Suddenly, his eyes lit up.

"What now, Jahaan?" Sliske hissed from the corner of his mouth.

"Keep distracting the guard - I have an idea," Jahaan whispered. "The food I scraped into the drain is reacting with whatever's down there… if it's acidic or volatile I might be able to use it to melt through the lock."

Sliske gagged. "That's… vile, but I guess desperate times and all that."

Motioning for Sliske to get back to his distractions, Jahaan set to work. Firstly, he tried to sharpen the edge of the plate on a brick, but instead, the loose brick popped out of the wall and the plate broke in half.

Meanwhile, Sliske tried his luck with the dragonkin guard, who seemed to be growing increasingly uncomfortable. "I think there must be something wrong with my eyes, because I can't seem to take them off you."

Biting his lip, Sliske turned aside to Jahaan and whispered, "Can you hurry up with whatever whacky scheme you're trying? This place is making me stir-crazy, and I'm worried my attempts at flirting might actually be effective…"

Rolling his eyes, Jahaan worked to grind an edge into the plate half, turning it into a crude blade, one that, unfortunately, he quickly realised would be ineffective against the dragonkin. Then, he cut a strip of cloth from the bedding - even this caused the fragile blade to crack - and tied it to the piece of fallen brick, creating a legendary weapon of unparalleled destruction.

After crafting the ludicrous flail, he looked around the near distance to see if it could actually come in handy, or if all his DIY efforts had been in vain. When he saw the contents of the shelves next to Sliske's cell, he had an idea.

Motioning Sliske over, he stated, "I need you to get me that vial off the shelf over there."

"And how do you propose I do that?"

"With this," Jahaan presented him with the flail. Sliske did not look impressed.

"Really? This is the best the infamous 'World Guardian' can come up with?"

"Right now, yes. So just get on with it."

With an exasperated sigh, Sliske relented. "Fine, fine! Give me your ridiculous brick-on-a-rope and let's get on with this."

Visually locking onto his target, Sliske launched one end of the flail over the top of his cell bars and towards the potion. Miraculously, it lassoed its target, and once a tighter grip was applied, Sliske snapped it towards him and caught the potion as it flew through the air.

Jahaan couldn't help but be impressed as the vial was slipped into his hands. The dragonkin, on the other hand, less so. Irritated by the motions, it grumbled, stalked over to Sliske's cell, and threw the door open with a high pitched groan.

Edging backwards, Sliske held his hands up in defence. "Hey now, let's be reasonable and-"

A punch across Sliske's jaw cut the words from his throat. Cowering down, Sliske waited the beating out, hissing in pain with each strike. Fortunately, the dragonkin didn't seem to press about what Sliske was doing, and he didn't see the potion Jahaan was concealing behind his back. He also didn't notice Jahaan subtly reach through the bars separating them and snagging a pouch from his cloak pocket. Peeking inside, he noted it contained small, white crystals, ones that Jahaan recognised. However, the keys were unfortunately out of reach on the other side of the dragonkin's belt, but the crystals would do for now.

_Some guard he is. Maybe he just fancied roughing Sliske up a little? Who could blame him._

Eventually, the dragonkin got bored and trudged away from the cell, leaving Sliske a bloodied and battered mess slumped against his cell wall.

"My face!" he picked himself up, wincing at the twinges of pain it induced. "Why is everyone hitting me in the face today?"

"Karma?"

Sliske shot him a look. "What was that, World Guardian?"

"Nothing, nothing...

Clutching his stomach, Sliske fumbled with a long and rough piece of fabric in his fingers. "In other news, I tore a strip of cloth from his robe. At least I can use it to bind my wounds."

Jahaan winced. "Actually, I might need that."

Sliske's shoulders sagged. "Might or _do_? Because, you know, facial wounds and such."

"I'm going to go with 'do'. Turns out the potion you swiped and the crystals I lifted from the dragonkin are reagents, which I'm pretty sure I can use to make acid in the latrine. And I need the strip to make a facemask to stop myself from inhaling deadly fumes."

"Well, look at you, the chemist," Sliske drawled. "You've been spending too much time with the druids in Taverley, haven't you? Well, fine, have the cloth, but this plan of yours better work."

After taking the cloth strip from a reluctant Sliske, Jahaan tied it around his mouth and nose. Carefully, Jahaan poured the potion into the latrine, causing the slop below to change into a vivid green. Into this mix he added the crystals, and everything began hissing and smoking, with the stone of the latrine pitting visibly around the 'water' level. From the way it was reacting, it looked like it would make short work of the lock, but Jahaan realised he needed something to get the acid out without burning his hand off.

Coughing violently, Sliske pressed himself against the far wall of his cell, trying to pull his robe up over his nose. "Are you brewing RUM over there, Jahaan?!"

"Not quite," the cloth strip wasn't as effective as Jahaan had hoped, and he was feeling rather lightheaded. "I hope the dragonkin can't smell this."

Picking up the empty vial, Jahaan held his breath and tentatively removed the cloth strip protection. Thankfully he didn't immediately knock himself out with the fumes, and in imitation of his amazing brick-on-a-rope, he tied the cloth strip around the neck of the bottle, ready to collect the acid. Dipping the bottle into the latrine, Jahaan filled it with acid and delicately pulled it out again. Just in time, too, as the cloth around the neck was eaten away to uselessness.

"I have the acid," Jahaan whispered, subtly showing Sliske the vial of corrosive liquid.

"Great, let's get out of here."

"Not yet - I need you to distract the guard one more time."

Sliske growled, sternly, "I am not getting punched again!"

A small smile tugging on his lips, Jahaan explained, "You don't need to antagonise him. Just take this plate and redirect the light at him. I don't think he'll come in here and attack you, he'll likely just look away to stop being annoyed. Besides, if he does attack you, I'll throw this vial of acid at him."

Jahaan had no intention of wasting the acid on saving Sliske from a beating, but the Mahjarrat bought it regardless.

With a huff, Sliske begrudgingly relented, "Fine, give me the plate."

With the plate half, Sliske angled it to use what meager light the room had to his advantage, casting a bright beam at the dragonkin guard. Annoyed, the dragonkin turned away.

"Well he doesn't seem to like being blinded," Sliske remarked. "And he hasn't come in here yet. So there's that."

"Huh. I didn't think that would actually work."

"So you thought he'd come to beat me again?"

"I thought it was seventy-thirty in favour."

"Thanks, Janny. Anyways, don't you have a lock to melt?

"Good point. Back in a second."

When Jahaan used the vial of acid on the cell door, the acid hissed quietly into the locking mechanism, which emerged from the bottom of the lock in a greasy, metal sludge. When his lock was no more, he handed the rest of the vial to Sliske, who proceeded to melt his lock in the same fashion.

"Sliske, let's get out of here. If we zig-zag around him, I bet we can dodge the guard. Or, maybe, we can get some more acid and throw it at him. Or perhaps we-"

Chuckling, Sliske interjected, "Slow down, Janny. You'll give yourself a stitch."

"Well, we're in a bit of a rush here," Jahaan hissed, nervously eying the guard. "We have to get Ozan and Ariane, and take the Stone back from the dragonkin!"

Straightening up, Sliske's demeanour changed. He seemed much calmer now. Worryingly so. "The hostages are fine, Jahaan."

"Sliske, what are you talking about, the dragonkin have them!"

Sliske raised an eyebrow. "Do they?"

"Yes, you told me they-" finally, it hit him. Jahaan's shoulders straightened, and his face went blank. "...and now I am on the same page. You lied to me."

"Oh yes," Slike smirked, smugly.

"The dragonkin don't have the hostages?"

"Nope. That isn't even a real dragonkin out there. It's just a wight in a costume."

Jahaan regarded the dragonkin once more. "It's a pretty elaborate costume."

"I know, right? I didn't even have to make it, he just had one!"

"And you were never kidnapped?"

"Nope," Sliske grinned. "I just grabbed a bunch of people for my scheme and got my fangirl to lure you in. And let me say, your performance was exemplary. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time!"

Jahaan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Sliske, I am going to leave now."

"But what about the hostages, hm?" Sliske queried with a victorious undertone.

"You've had your fun, you got me here - now you can let them go," Jahaan's voice was an unsteady mix between a demand and a plea. There was a darkness behind Sliske's eyes, however, one that Jahaan recognised. It made him uneasy, set him on edge.

"Ah, I think I'll hang onto them for a little while longer. You see, I have a bit of entertainment in mind, and I fear my stellar company isn't quite enough of an incentive to make you stick around. Now, if we're quite finished, join me through that door and find out why I brought you here. Oh, and don't worry, all that precious armour Azzy so kindly gifted you is safe and sound; my brother's little humble abode is finally cluttered with something other than dusty tomes. I just needed to level the playing field, is all. All in the name of sportsmanship, I assure you."

With a click of his fingers, Sliske teleported away.

Leaning back against the cell wall, Jahaan exhaled deeply, regretting every single decision he'd made today. Except one. "Damnit Sliske… I'm so glad I punched you…"

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	38. Quest 09: Our Spirits, Kindred (Ch3)

**Quest 09: Our Spirits, Kindred**

**Chapter 3 - Method of Madness**

When Ariane is kidnapped and the signs point to Sliske, Jahaan is forced to confront the Mahjarrat once again. But this time, things take a turn for the twisted, and Jahaan uncovers the truth behind Sliske's obsession with him. Can Jahaan survive Sliske's games? After all, broken bones heal faster than a broken mind...

* * *

Leaving the wight-turned-dragonkin staring blankly into the distance behind him, Jahaan walked through into the next chamber. There, it wasn't just Ozan and Ariane who he saw. No, alongside the huddled up couple were Major Mary Rancour, Sir Tendeth, and Idria - one of the Guardians of Armadyl.

"Sliske got you all too, huh?" Jahaan drawled, exchanging a small nod of greeting to the Major, who looked just as worldweary as Jahaan sounded. "Is everyone alright?"

Nodding, Idria assured, "Yes, the Brothers have been guarding us, but we're okay. Do you know what this is about?"

"I can shed some light on that," Sliske faded into view, looming over the gathered group.

Mary Rancour snapped around, heatedly demanding, "Sliske! Release us all at once!"

"No! I will release you gradually!"

The Major blinked. "...what?"

"While you're trying to figure that one out, this is how this is going to go," Sliske started wringing his hands, his voice developing a wicked overtone. "As you may have realised, we are no longer in Daemonheim. I welcome you all to my new humble abode, after the Zamorakians made a mess of my last one. Jahaan here is our guest of honour, and you're all going to help him through these little trials of mine. You'll find out the details as we go, but I've put a lot of thought into them, so I do hope you have fun!"

Utterly baffled, Jahaan shook his head and replied, "Why do you think I'll do this, Sliske? This is madness! Worse, this is nonsense! What is the point of all this? Just to get me to jump through hoops?"

"In reverse order: not exactly, it's a secret, no it isn't, it kind of is… and because I'll kill more of the hostages if you don't."

Jahaan faltered. "M-More of...?"

Sliske raised an arm; the cowering Sir Tendeth screamed as he was lifted into the air, surrounded by a purple aura. After a couple of seconds of being held up, he dropped dead.

"By the gods!" Mary Racour gasped, stumbling backwards. Even Idria, normally courageous to the point of being foolhardy, had to reconsider intervention. She was powerless without her rune stones, after all.

Jahaan watched the corpse fall to the ground with a dull thump, and a thick lump rose in his throat. "Sliske..."

Unphased by the horror he'd just inflicted, Sliske continued, "You see, there is a reason for all this, Jahaan. Two, in fact. The one you'll get now is that I'll present the Staff of Armadyl to you when you are done."

Idria's head shot up, fully alert. "You'll what?!"

"I'll give him the Staff of Armadyl," Sliske reiterated, smiling innocently at Jahaan. "You see, soon the Staff of Armadyl would have outlived its usefulness for me. So, here's the deal: play along with my games, and it's yours, to go all stabby-stabby on the gods if you so wish. You might liven up this dull period of my contest, after all. Plus, your little friends can go free, as an added bonus. What do you say?"

Jahaan's eyes examined all the hostages carefully, apprehensively awaiting his response. He didn't trust Sliske to be true to his word on this, naturally. He didn't trust him as far as he could throw him. However, he also realised that there was no choice but to play along for now in the hopes that an escape opportunity would arise later down the line.

Sighing, Jahaan answered, "I have no choice. I'll play your stupid game."

"My game isn't stupid, Jahaan. You'll see that very quickly. Now, there's the door, so let's get moving!"

Sliske teleported away. After he did, Ozan rushed up to Jahaan and, in a hushed tone, asked, "Are you sure about this, Jahaan?"

"Not even slightly," Jahaan gravely responded. "But we don't have much of a choice right now."

To the group, he ushered them to come closer before he quietly said, "Everyone, keep your eyes out for a way to escape as we progress. The sooner we can get out of here, the better."

When the group entered the large expanse Sliske had directed them to, they saw what looked like an arena. A fighting pit, more like. Desolate and unmaintained from centuries of abandonment.

_Where the fuck are we?_ Jahaan wondered to himself, gazing at the ancient architecture. However, his curiosity was cut short like a bullet to the chest when he saw the other residents Sliske had summoned down in the pit.

They were six figures he recognised all too well, faces that were etched into his mind like carvings on a tree, determined to stand the test of time, to outlive him and all his other memories.

The ragged and torn clothing, along with the tangled mess of brunette hair that covered his blue eyes. He was exactly how Jahaan had found him that day in the cave. Cyrius.

Short and with an expression of perpetual annoyance, the grey haired gnome stood with his chest out and proud, defiant to the end. Hazelmere.

Covered in grey robes, he looked empty without the cocoon of steel armour protecting him, but his stoic expression was stronger than any shield. Turael.

Sporting a pompously flamboyant green hat that only someone like him could pull off, coupled with a perfectly trimmed moustache. Harrallak.

Dark red skin protruded from the slashes in his shirt, exposing the scaly flesh below. He looked completely unphased by the unfamiliar surroundings, ready to take on the world all over again. Mazchna.

Her beige robes covered her from head to toe, strands of ginger hair poking out from the sides of the hood, a fringe covering one of her steely green eyes. Lassyai.

Yes, Jahaan recognised them instantly, but they were all paler than normal, and they looked slightly… hollow.

"Lassyai!" Idria cried out, beginning to rush towards her fellow Guardian of Armadyl, until the blade of Dharok's greataxe barred her journey.

Like he'd seen a ghost, Jahaan stumbled backwards, knocking into Ozan, who sported a similar expression of confused horror. "H-How are you all here?!"

"I can answer that," Sliske's self-satisfied voice echoed around them. "You see, I 'borrowed' these souls for today's proceedings. Iccy's going to be FURIOUS - I wish I could see the look on his face!"

"Jahaan!" Cyrius called out, a heart-melting smile on his battered-looking face. "Ozan! I'm so glad you're both still alive."

Jahaan felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. "Cyrius… all of you… I thought I'd never see you again..."

"Death is a great uniter," Harrallack commented, dryly. "Then again, it seems 'undeath' is as well…"

Always straight to the point, Mazchna asked, "Do you know why we are here? Or how?"

"Yes, I was rather enjoying the afterlife," Hazelmere cut in, irritably. "Then in a blink, I'm here. And it's cold."

"Oh don't worry, you'll be back in the afterlife before you know it," Sliske assured, a darkness in the edges of his voice. "How you get there, however, will be up to Jahaan. Which brings me to why I brought you all here. You see, Jahaan, you always blamed yourself for the death of these fine warriors. It was never your fault, you know. Well, until now, that is."

Jahaan gulped. "What do you mean?"

"It's simple, really," Sliske continued, a wicked grin slashed onto his face. "These lovely men and women want to return to the afterlife. You're going to help them get there. To do that, all you have to do is put them back to rest…"

Fear crept into Jahaan's tone. "What do you mean by 'put them back to rest'?"

Sighing, Sliske rolled his eyes. "Honestly, do I have to spell everything out to you? You're going to have to kill them, Janny. One by one."

Jahaan's face was a picture of disgust. "I'm not doing that!"

"Oh I think you will, for if you don't kill them, the Brothers will. Trust me, they'll make it much more painful than you ever would. Whether they get a quick and merciful re-death is entirely up to you."

The shock subsided once Sliske's words sunk in, replaced instead by something much more tangible, much more familiar: anger.

Rounding to where Sliske was perched, Jahaan gripped his fists into tight balls, teeth clenched so tightly they felt like they could shatter at any moment. "SLISKE!" he roared, saliva spitting uncontrollably, like venom from a rabid animal. "RELEASE THEM BACK TO THE AFTERLIFE NOW!"

Sliske's response was deadly, bone-chillingly calm. "I already told you how to return them to the afterlife. There's no need to yell."

Before Sliske could even get the last syllable out, Jahaan had already began storming towards the stand inhabited by the Mahjarrat, fully intending to scale the brick work with his bare hands if he had to. However, the sudden shriek from behind him stopped him dead. Spinning around, Jahaan saw Guthan had the razor-edge of his spear tight against Ariane's jugular, who flinched away in terror. In a flash, the six warriors had charged forwards, but a conjuring of shadow binds kept them in their places.

"Leave her alone!" Ozan cried, charging towards Guthan, but Torag knocked him to the ground, shattering his left ankle with one of his hammers.

The sickening crunch of the bone and Ozan's subsequent scream made Jahaan quiver. Holding his hands up slightly, Jahaan tried to ease his shaking as he turned back to Sliske and stuttered, "O-Okay… okay I-I'm calm. P-Please don't hurt him again."

Smugly, Sliske replied, "I thought you would have figured this out by now: whoever gets hurt is entirely up to _you_. Understand?"

Nodding feverously, Jahaan agreed. "Yes, yes I understand. Please, don't hurt them anymore. Please."

Satisfied, Sliske nodded his head towards Guthan. The Brother released Ariane, and she immediately rushed to Ozan's side.

Fighting his restraints, Tureal roared, "Sorcerer! Release us or pay the price!"

With a grin slashed into his face like it was carved by a crude blade, Sliske retorted, "I don't think you're in any position to make threats, Tureal. After all, you couldn't even stop poor little Lucien, and I'm rather certain I've far surpassed his power by now."

Huffing, Hazelmere loudly grumbled, "Can someone PLEASE tell me what is going on here?"

Lassyai blew a stray clump of ginger hair out from her eyes. "Isn't it obvious? He," she jerked her head towards Sliske's perch. "Is one of those Mahjarrat bastards, like Lucien. Sadistic, all of them. And he's stolen the Staff of Armadyl!"

"But why?!" Hazelmere persisted, "What is going on?!"

"ENOUGH!" Sliske fiercely cut in, hushing the room to silence. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he rounded on the six warriors. "By the gods, I'm surprised you didn't bicker Lucien to death. And here you were supposed to be Gielinor's best and brightest. But the World Guardian knows what's going on, don't you, Janny?"

Through it all, however, Cyrius' eyes had never left Jahaan. The World Guardian had been staring numbly into space until a broken murmur from Cyrius broke him out of his stupor. "Jahaan…?"

Gulping, Jahaan's voice was fractured as he quietly explained. "This is Sliske. He wants to hurt me by getting me to hurt you. I don't know why."

_Betrayed… _the notion danced around in Jahaan's mind, conjuring nausea in his stomach and bile in his throat. He wasn't angry now - he was too tired for that. Instead, he was more… _heartbroken_.

Seeing his old friends. Seeing Ozan hurt and scared. Knowing what he had to do. Not knowing what else was to come. Not being in control of a damn thing.

And, above all, not knowing _why_.

"Just do it Jahaan," Mary Rancour urged, anger biting into her frustration. "They're already dead - it's not like you're actually killing them or anything. The sooner this is over, the sooner we can leave."

"Yes, do it, World Guardian," Sliske malevolently echoed, waving away the restraints of the warriors as he did so. He motioned to Verac and Karil; the former handed Jahaan a blade, thin like a kitchen knife, while the latter aimed his crossbow at Idria. "Or do you need further encouragement?"

Weighing up the blade in his hand, he turned towards the warriors, all regarding him with a cocktail of confusion and apprehension.

Unsurprisingly, Hazelmere was the first to speak. "Well, get on with it then! What do I care if you kill me again? I just want to go back to the peace and quiet."

Sniffing a laugh, Turael turned a challenging glance to Sliske as he added, "Yeah, means nothing to me. Have at it, Jahaan."

The others cut in with similar resistant barbs, focused on either trying to rattle Sliske, calm Jahaan's nerves, or perhaps both.

Jahaan knew they didn't fully comprehend what was going on, or why, or even how. But he recognised the main thing, and that was they were doing in death what they always did in life - they were supporting their comrade.

Despite everything, he forced a weak, defiant smile. "Your plan backfired, Sliske. You've given me the chance to do something I've wanted to do for years. You've allowed me to say goodbye."

But as the blade bit down on Hazelmere's thin skin and he looked deep into those blue eyes, the fear and nerves and sickness all came flooding back. Defiance had crumbled, but that was internally. Externally, he tried his damn best to keep his resolve steady. Then again, the hesitation no doubt gave it away.

He didn't want to give Sliske the satisfaction of watching him break.

"Hurry up," Hazelmere grumbled; Jahaan knew it was for his sake, not out of genuine annoyance. This was the only way Hazelmere knew how to be supportive. "My feet are aching, and I had tea brewing."

Sniffing a faint chuckle, Jahaan whispered, "Goodbye, Hazelmere."

In one swift motion, the first deed was done. There wasn't much in the way of blood, but the way his body crumpled to the ground, a dull and lifeless thud, brought back the painful vision of the first time he saw Hazelmere fall.

_Mustn't give Sliske the satisfaction, _Jahaan reminded himself, swallowing hard and blinking back the salty tears threatening the edges of his eyes as he moved onto Turael, then Harrallak, then Mazchna, then Lassyai.

The last was Cyrius.

_He looks just as beautiful as he always did,_ Jahaan found himself ruminating, gazing into his warm blue eyes through blurred vision. Blinking himself back into clarity, a few stray tears escaped down his cheek, and he didn't have the will to brush them away. Cyrius didn't give him a look of pity, though. His serene smile encapsulated his contentment as he said, "Do you remember that trip we took to Baxtorian Falls? We camped out there for days, watching the leaping salmon and trout dancing through the air."

This thought broke Jahaan; he choked back a sob, trying to mask it inside a laugh. "How could I forget? You burnt everything we caught."

Cyrius chuckled now, a full-bodied chuckle filled with warmth and comfort. "Do you remember how we got back down the waterfall?"

Jahaan felt like his heart momentarily stopped. "I-I do…" he stammered out, swallowing down the large lump in his throat.

Cyrius looked on the brink of tears now. "I was so scared of jumping in that whirlpool. You told me people did it all the time and lived to tell the tale, but still. Remember how you took my hand, and you led me to the bridge," Cyrius reached out and lightly took Jahaan's hand in his, the one with the knife. "If you hadn't held onto me I swear I would have chickened out. Tell me, honestly, were you sure we were going to make it?"

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jahaan confessed, "Honestly? I guess not."

"Me neither," Cyrius replied. Jahaan could see his own reflection through the water in Cyrius' eyes. "But you know what? I didn't care. If we hadn't made it out, I wouldn't have cared, because right there and then, everything was perfect."

Cyrius wrapped Jahaan's fingers around his own. "Because _you _are perfect."

Suddenly, Cyrius leant forward and planted a deep kiss on Jahaan's lips. But before Jahaan could even register what was happening, Cyrius pulled away, and he had taken the dagger with him.

Jahaan barely opened his mouth before Cyrius slit his own throat with the blade.

When Jahaan climbed the ramp out of the pit, Sliske was there to greet him, clapping slowly. "Good show, Janny. Good show indeed!"

Jahaan didn't stop, he just stormed right past Sliske and towards the entrance to the next chamber.

The doors creaked open slowly, allowing Jahaan to enter. When they closed behind him again, he leant back against the door and tried to steady his breathing. His hands wouldn't stop shaking, so he clenched them into balled fists, squeezing so hard his fingers started to turn purple. Chattering teeth thrummed in time with his rapid heartbeat, while waves of nausea threatened to overwhelm him.

_Calm down,_ Jahaan hissed internally, _There's no time for this now. You have to focus. Pull yourself together_

Trying to swallow his feelings like bile in his throat, Jahaan prepared to embrace Sliske's latest torture chamber. In front of him he saw two incredibly large god statues - one of Saradomin and one of Zamorak - with an eerily familiar looking gentleman attached to them. Blue and red chains held him taut in a crucifix position. Upon closer inspection, it appeared as if they were actually pulling him in both directions, agonisingly stretching his limbs. Above him towered a tall statue of a very sadistic looking Mahjarrat.

Hurrying over, Jahaan could only look on in abject horror as the man's body shook against the tension, quivering in pain. But when he got close enough to see his face, Jahaan felt like throwing up. "You!"

Blonde hair, parted at the side, but messy, like a comb-over had gone wrong. Dark eyes, empty and lifeless. The man was an animated corpse.

And a long, thin scar across his throat.

"Sir Tenly," Jahaan could actually feel the bile forming in his throat as he uttered the name. The former White Knight's eyes fell on Jahaan, a flash of panic, desperation and anger all in one nanosecond.

"You! You're the- ARGG!" the pain of the chains cut him off, but he was determined to finish, teeth gritted as he spat, "you're the bastard that murdered me!"

Jahaan flinched backwards, eyes wide and bloodshot. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by another scream of pain from Sir Tenly.

Desperately, with a face creased and a brow strained, Sir Tenly hissed, "You have to help me - these things are tearing me apart!"

"_Yes, they are, aren't they, Sir Tenly?"_ Sliske taunted, his disembodied voice echoing around them. "_Jahaan, this one is very simple: Sir Tenly is being torn between two gods, Saradomin and Zamorak. You have to figure out which one doesn't have a claim on his soul and make them let go."_

Sir Tenly's arms struggled against the chains. "Saradomin is my lord and light! Aaaargh!"

"_Then that's simple, isn't it? All you need is a key to Zamorak's chains. There is a machine for making them over in the other room where your friends are. They just need to put a hand into that little box to power the machine."_

Already feeling like he knew the answer, Jahaan warily inquired, "And what happens when they do?"

The Mahjarrat replied, "_Ah. Well, if I told you, that'd ruin the surprise now, wouldn't it?"_

Jahaan could practically _feel _Sliske's smirk.

"Hurry! Do it! Free me!" Sir Tenly beseeched, "My vitals feel like they are being sliced apart!"

"_Well, that might be because I hid the Saradomin key in there…"_

Jahaan choked on the lump in his throat. "What?!"

"_If you think maybe Saradomin has less of a claim on Sir Tenly than he declares, all you have to do is dig it out. I'll let the two of you have a nice reunion. Have fun!"_

Hesitantly, Jahaan edged closer to Sir Tenly, his eyes stinging with tears in them. The man whose life he cut short, all over a stupid insult.

Jahaan gulped. _Now he's here, suffering again, thanks to me..._

He didn't know what to do; his mouth hung open like a dumbstruck animal, his feet nailed to the floor. It wasn't until another cry of pain from Sir Tenly snapped him out of his trance.

"Why is this happening to me?!" Sir Tenly wailed, face contorted with agony. "I was a good Saradominist! Who is this- ARG! This MONSTER?!"

Gulping, Jahaan tried to straighten his thoughts out enough to tentatively reply. "It's not you. He's… he's doing this to get to me. It's one of his sick games."

_"You're putting an unfair amount of the blame on me, don't you think, Janny?"_ Sliske cackled, menacingly. "_After all, you were the one who sent this man to an early grave. How can you call me 'sick' or 'twisted' or evil' when you're nothing but a _cold-blooded murderer _yourself, hm?"_

Sliske's words cut through Jahaan like a knife through raw chicken, chilling his very core. It was Sir Tenly who pulled him out of his own mind.

"Who even is this monster?!" Sir Tenly exclaimed, but after another sharp hiss of pain, he corrected, "Nevermind, I don't care - just get the Zamorak key and get me out of here!"

_The Zamorak keys can only be forged from pain, while the 'light' of Saradomin tears Sir Tenly up inside, _Jahaan darkly realised, watching the corpse in front of him writhe in pain. His head was still reeling from Sliske's previous truth. _What poetic irony, Sliske._

"What are you still standing there for?!" Sir Tenly strained against his chains. "Get the key, NOW!"

Exhaling a shuddering breath, Jahaan declared, "O-Okay, I'll get the Zamorak key."

"Hurry! I don't know how much more I can take!"

Resolving himself, Jahaan rushed over to the doorway separating himself from his comrades, who had been ushered into a small box-like room that extended into his chamber. He knew exactly what he was about to ask of his friends, but there was little choice in the matter. Pressing up against the door, he shouted through, "I need a Zamorak key."

"A what key?" a puzzled Ozan called back.

"Long story short, Sir Tenly is strung between two statues," Jahaan hurried to explain. "I need to unlock the statue of the god who does not have a claim on his soul. So, I need a Zamorak key."

"Who's Sir Tenly?" Major Mary Rancour inquired.

"Not important," Ozan cut in, sparing Jahaan from having to explain himself, for which Jahaan was incredibly grateful. Small mercies, after all.

Back on track, Ariane asked, "How do we give you that key?"

Jahaan hesitated, the guilt setting in. "Is… is there a machine in there with you?"

Idria confirmed that there was.

"One of you needs to put your hand inside it. It's… it's going to hurt, but Sliske said that's the only way to get the key."

Hands on her hips, Idria protested, "Why do we need to get hurt over this Sir Tenly's sake?"

"Because Sliske will hurt us all if you don't."

Idria countered, "But how do we know he won't just hurt us anyway?"

Echoing around them, Sliske cheerily conceded, "_She has a good point. I am a terrible person."_

Idria waved her hands to the sky, satisfied at being proven right yet again.

"_The thing is, my dear, if you don't play along, well…"_ Sliske warned, "_Remember dear old Sir Tendeth? Lived up to his name, didn't he…"_

Biting his lip, Jahaan said, "I'm sorry guys. I need that key."

Exhaling deeply, Ozan was the first to declare, "Okay. I'll do it."

Ariane gave his hand a light, reassuring tug before he limped over to the machine. There was a little box that opened as he approached. A metal grill was on the bottom inside it.

Wincing, Ozan cautiously edged his hand inside, and the box clamped down to secure him there.

The scream was earth-shattering as blue fire rose from the grill and engulfed Ozan's hand.

When he was released, he fell to the ground clutching his scorched palm.

The sound made Jahaan feel sick, but he steeled himself through the waves of nausea. "Ozan, I'm so sorry…" he mumbled, but he doubted anyone could hear.

The next thing he knew, a key was placed through the letterbox-sized flap to his right.

The sounds of Sir Tenly's wailing snapped Jahaan back into focus; scrabbling to grab the key, he hurried over to the Zamorak statue and tried to unlock it.

Tragically, the key broke in the lock.

"What's happening?!" Sir Tenly demanded.

Jahaan heavy-heartedly called back, "The key broke!"

"Useless sandboy!" Sir Tenly hissed. "Do it right this time!"

The hairs on the back of Jahaan's neck stood up and he froze, utterly, clenching the broken end of the key tightly into his fist. He couldn't quite tell if it was in his imagination or not, but he swore he heard Sliske laughing.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, he ignored Sir Tenly and went back over to the large door, shouting through, "Guys, the key broke in the lock. I'm so sorry, but I need another."

Sighing, Mary Rancour volunteered, "Fine, I'll do it."

Despite telling herself she didn't want to give Sliske the satisfaction of hearing her scream, her shriek was incredibly high pitched.

Taking the key, Jahaan went to unlock the Zamorak statue again. Alas…

"It broke again!" Jahaan exclaimed, his shoulders sagging.

"Are you kidding me?!" Sir Tenly replied. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

"I'm not!" Jahaan snapped back, indignantly. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but out of anyone, he was glad it was someone like Sir Tenly up there and not one of his friends.

He walked significantly slower this time over to the door. "Hey guys, I need another key…"

Idria did not look impressed. "Of course you do."

Shaking his head, Jahaan said, "I don't know what to tell you."

Grumbling, Idria replied, "I guess I'll do it then."

A hand, a box, a flame, a scream, a key.

And again, it broke in the lock.

Sliske's voice floated tauntingly around them. "_Hmm it broke again… I wonder why that is, Sir Tenly…"_

The realisation Jahaan had been fighting back since the second key broke crawled across Jahaan's skin. Walking up the steps to Sir Tenly, he somberly announced, "I need the Saradomin key, Sir Tenly. There's no other way."

"What are you talking about?" Sir Tenly gruffly protested. "The Saradomin key won't unlock the chains. All you'd be doing is symbolically removing my love for him, just like that monster wants!"

"I'm sorry… I have to…"

"NO!" Sir Tenly bellowed. "I am a White Knight of Saradomin! Get a Zamorak key and release me!"

Gulping, Jahaan stepped closer. "I'm sorry."

"No! I follow my lord willingly!" Sir Tenly desperately resisted, his fearful eyes quivering.

Having to force his hand closer to Sir Tenly's soft, undead stomach, Jahaan whispered, "I'm so sorry…"

With a sickening squelch, Jahaan's fingers stabbed into Sir Tenly's belly. As the knight writhed in torment, he felt his fingertips knock against something metallic.

"Mercy! Please, stop this torture!" Sir Tenly desperately begged, his head shooting around in all directions as his body convulsed with agony.

Jahaan was shaking, his heart breaking at the pained sobs of a proud knight, no matter how ignorant or rude that knight could be. Reaching in further, he felt his hand brush against dusty organs. The sensation made Jahaan gag.

"Please stop! You're tearing me in half! ARRRRGGGG!"

Finally, Jahaan managed to hook two fingers onto the teeth of the key, but it didn't budge easily. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he woefully declared, "Sir Tenly, I have to pull harder. I'm sorry."

As he began to pull, Sir Tenly unleashed a blood-curdling scream. "ARRRRGGGG! Please stop the pain! My god, why are you letting this happen?!"

Jahaan felt the key catch on Sir Tenly's ghostly insides as he pulled harder.

"Will the truth make it end?!" Sir Tenly was in tears at this point, head hung low as he cried out, "ALRIGHT! I'm a Zamorakian! Now please, LET THIS END!"

Finally, the key came free with a 'slurp', covered in whatever juices were left of Sir Tenly's insides.

Refusing to give into his nausea at this second, Jahaan raced towards the Saradomin statue. Unsurprisingly, the key fit perfectly, unlocking Sir Tenly's chains. As Sir Tenly swung loosely towards the Zamorak statue, the Saradomin statue toppled over backwards at the loss of contact, knocking a large hole in the wall behind it.

Satisfied that Sir Tenly was free, Jahaan realised nothing was holding him back now, and thus he threw up. A lot.

Once that was out of his system, and most of the goo had been wiped off his hand, Jahaan staggered back over to Sir Tenly, who had become free from all his chains now. "Are you alright?"

Clutching his stomach, Sir Tenly shot him a deadly glare. "You ripped a key from my chest and revealed my true Zamorakian faith, proving I'm a heretic. Why wouldn't I be alright?"

Jahaan forced a hollow smile. "Sarcasm - that means you're good to go."

As quickly as he could, he rushed back over to his friends and hissed through the door, "Guys, are you alright? Can you hear me?"

"Yes, we're holding up," Ozan assured, but the shivering laced in his voice betrayed him. "What about you?"

"Sir Tenly's free," Jahaan dodged the question. "The fallen statue knocked out a part of the wall. I'm going to see if it leads to a way out. Can you guys keep Sliske busy while I do that?"

"We'll try," Idria replied, biting her lip. "Don't be long though. If you get outside, bring reinforcements back with you. I don't trust Sliske to keep his word about the Staff, but as long as we can corner him here, we have a chance of getting it back."

Mary Rancour concurred, "Indeed. We have to use this situation to our advantage. Good luck out there, Jahaan."

"Same to you, everyone," Jahaan replied, but he hesitated before leaving. He wanted to say something else, something reassuring and confident to try and keep everyone's head above water. But knowing he'd no doubt sound as scared as he felt, he held back.

With that, Jahaan hurried over to the hole in the wall, slipping behind cover wherever he could, and entered the caved in tunnel. From the lack of protest on Sliske's part, he seemed to get away with it.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	39. Quest 09: Our Spirits, Kindred (Ch4)

**Quest 09: Our Spirits, Kindred**

**Chapter 4 - Sliske's Secrets**

When Ariane is kidnapped and the signs point to Sliske, Jahaan is forced to confront the Mahjarrat once again. But this time, things take a turn for the twisted, and Jahaan uncovers the truth behind Sliske's obsession with him. Can Jahaan survive Sliske's games? After all, broken bones heal faster than a broken mind...

* * *

Climbing over the broken rock fragments led Jahaan to a small corridor, two wooden doors on either side and one right at the end. Taking a random guess, Jahaan went from the one furthest away. Fortunately for him, it wasn't just a broom closet or a wardrobe.

No, it looked like Jahaan had hit the jackpot here.

"Whoa…" Jahaan breathed, taking in the cluttered room. Blackboards, potions, globes, drawings, books and manic scribblings…

_This must be Sliske's laboratory…_

The blackboard had equations that Jahaan couldn't even begin to understand; he recognised a handful of letters and numbers in the common alphabet, but mixed in them seemingly randomly were rune graphics, ancient scripture, and dozens of symbols that meant nothing to Jahaan. The majority were scribbled roughly in white chalk, half crossed out with increasing passion as the board became more and more crowded the further down Sliske wrote.

The blackboard next to it was a little more structured and simplified with a Vitruvian Man drawing in the style of a Mahjarrat taking up the majority of the space. From various points on the body, arrows were protruding, such as from the chest and forehead crystals, though their labels were written in an unfamiliar tongue. It didn't even look Infernal. From the rough mess of harsh consonants, Jahaan guessed it could be Freneskaen.

Behind a red velvet curtain stood an oak bookshelf, packed to the brim with countless novels, manuscripts, textbooks and research papers. Tracing his fingers along the spines, Jahaan stopped at one that was jutting out of the shelf, unable to squeeze back neatly into its place due to just how many books were stacked there. Jahaan gathered it had been read and returned to its place rather recently, and so he slid it from its position and examined the cover.

'_The Divine Delusion', by Oreb, Magister of House Charron._

Intrigued, Jahaan opened it up to a creased page and began to read…

_The human soul is a tricky construct, more comprised of emotion than quantifiable elements. Yet it is most assuredly a real, measurable thing. This I have demonstrated several times in my experiments._

_There are various scholars that would argue that the strength of the soul is measured by one's devotion to a deity. That the worship of and adherence to the tenets of a powerful being of divine classification makes one's soul inherently more enriched and robust. I believe that this theory is naught but the prattle of clergy and the dogmatic response of those who themselves live their lives according to the whims of a god. Instead I propose that the soul has little actual relationship with the divine and is perhaps something entirely other. My extensive research suggests that the health and strength of one's soul comes from action and inspiration. It is my firm belief that the strongest souls belong to those who have made the most out of their lives, who have experienced everything that the world has to offer and braved the greatest of challenges._

_Furthermore, I posit that the soul is perhaps more closely linked to biology than theology, though certainly it falls outside the practice of conventional medicine. Elves have discovered the medical process of 'organ transplants', where the healthy organ of one being - usually deceased - is transferred into the body of another, replacing an organ that has stopped functioning. As you'd expect, there are certain conditions that have to be met for a transplant to work. So far, no successful transplant has occurred between different species or races. Therefore, a gnome could not donate, say, a kidney to a human. It's all to do with proportions; the human body would simply not take it. Then there's also the problem of compatibility, as the process is helped greatly if the two people are genetically identical or similar, so using relatives reduces the risk that the new body will reject the donated organ or, worse, attack it, thinking it is foreign._

_The same applies for soul transplants. If this process is to ever be done successfully, I believe the two participants have to be compatible in many ways, but whether that is some tangible compatibility, such as identical blood types, or something more abstract, like similar personalities, I cannot say with certainty. However, considering the soul is an essence instead of a tangible organ, there is nothing to say souls couldn't, theoretically, transfer between species. To serve what purpose, I cannot fathom._

_Then there comes the issue of extraction. From the little practical experimentation I have been able to undertake, I can hypothesise that a soul is much more malleable during periods of volatile emotions. For example, if a person is calm, their soul is stable within them. However, if a person is angry, hateful or distressed, their grip on their soul weakens, and thus is prone to outside forces. Therefore, if a soul is to be extracted from a living subject against their will, then placing them under conditions of extreme stress increases the likelihood of success. Of course, like anything ethereal, the process would be much simpler if the soul was given freely rather than taken by force. Some of these conditions might then be mitigated._

_My research, for obvious reasons, has not been allowed to spread outside these four walls, and with such secrecy comes limited funds, and less than willing participants._

_In conclusion, I believe that the soul, like the flesh, can be both harmed, healed and indeed extracted. Therefore, if one could find a compatible host, it could conceivably be possible to transfer the soul of one being into another. As for what effects this could have, I cannot say._

_I must continue my research..._

The last paragraph was underlined feverously.

Jahaan next turned his attention to Sliske's desk. A notebook stood out for the block writing on the cover, black and ominous, with a slight spike to the edging of the letters:

'_Death at Sea', by Praefectus Praetorio Sliske_

When Jahaan opened it up, he saw that it was handwritten by Sliske. Fortunately Jahaan's Infernal language studies hadn't relented in his downtime, and thus he was able to understand most of what was being written. The longer, more scientific words he sometimes had to guess at, thankful for their similarities in many ways to the Common Tongue.

The notebook seemed to be used by Sliske to jot down ideas for a play. The opening section dealt with possible characters and a rough plot involving a sailor who witnesses a murder so terrible that it renders him mute. However, after a few dozen pages, it devolved into backstage gossip, excerpts from secret police files on the proposed actors, and tirades against the increasingly complicated plot.

After a short gap, the entries resumed, in a journal format.

_It seems art may be imitating life! I had a chance encounter with Nabor this evening, which may hold the key to my current plot difficulties. It seems that he has received a new inmate to his little asylum, specifically a member of our navy, who has been struck insensible by some terrible injuries. I was almost bored to tears by the conversation - Nabor always was one of the dullest of the Mahjarrat - until that little nugget of information popped up. I may pay the place a visit tomorrow; an official inspection. That will pass a bit of time. Maybe seeing a wretch in a similar condition to the one I have been writing about will add a little realism to the scenes?_

_Well that didn't help._

_My visit to the asylum has raised more questions than it answered. Nabor was almost fawningly open with his records, and it seems there is little to fear from his charges. I doubt many of them are capable of subversion at this point. Some are barely able to feed themselves._

_I eventually requested to see the sailor in question. Nabor took me to a chamber held apart from the others, and I inquired if the patient was dangerous. He replied that it was more for his own protection. The human was known to shout things that disturbed the other patients, agitating them greatly. Nabor claimed that no matter what he tried, the lunatic would not do anything but babble piteously, occasionally howling and braying in ways most unsettling._

_When I approached the cell, I found the human inside lying on a pallet of straw. I noticed that he was not bound, but was in a filthy condition and missing his left leg and right foot. On seeing me, he crawled on his belly across the flagstones and pulled himself up using the bars. His eyes were wild and hollow, darting like a cornered animal until they finally settled upon my own. Their darkness was captivating; I felt as if I was looking inside the shell of a man, someone beyond humanity and, simultaneously, so far below it._

_Then, he spoke. "I know you."_

_His thick accent betrayed his breeding. The words were growled, the venom masked only by his increased shivering. After assuring him that we had never met before, repeatedly I might add, as he was rather insistent, I asked him where it was he thought we had met._

"_The afterlife," he replied wistfully, like he was recalling a fond memory._

_Clearly the man was delusional, but he was admittedly a fascinating specimen. So, I wanted to entertain his ramblings further, and explained that I could not go to an afterlife._

"_You have," he insisted. Again, the past tense was used. "You will, once you take His soul. His soul is your key. Death is not the end, it is only the beginning!"_

_Inquiring as to who this 'Him' was only seemed to horrify the patient. What he said next was… unusual. I cannot get the words out of my mind, nor the intensity with which he spoke them._

"_You don't remember?! He was no more god than man, and no more man than god. He could not save us all! He only saved YOU!"_

_Growing frustrated, I insisted he name the man he was referring to._

_Once he did, he wouldn't stop, repeating it over and over again with increasing volume and desperation. "Jahaan Alsiyad-Abut! Jahaan Alsiyad-Abut! Jahaan Alsiyad-Abut!"_

_Soon, there arose a hooting and wailing from the nearby cells. The inmates on this level began banging the bars, screaming and otherwise displaying their afflictions in a chorus of suffering, obviously agitated by the man's disturbance. The pathetic human fell to the floor, weeping. As Nabor called for his orderlies to restore order, I returned to my office. Who is this 'Jahaan Alsiyad-Abut', and why is he so important to this crazed man? It seems my play will have to wait until I have answered these mysteries._

_I returned to the asylum to speak with Nabor and the sailor, only to find out that the latter was dead. There were no marks upon the body, and nobody was seen to enter or leave the cell. Curious._

_As for this Jahaan Alsiyad-Abut character, I have sent out agents to locate them, but no-one on record in the empire seems to go by that name. From the sounds of it, it likely originates from the Kharidian Lands. I shall have to widen my search net of agents if I am to follow up on this little enigma..._

The majority of pages after that entry were blank aside from a single entry containing Jahaan's date of birth. As it was in the Common Tongue, Jahaan deduced it must have been written a lot more recently. Below the date of birth were the words:

_Jahaan Alsiyad-Abut? Really? Is this the key at last? I must watch and see..._

Utterly freaked out, Jahaan closed the notebook in a hurry, backing away as if it was going to explode after reading. He darted his eyes around him, half-wanting someone to be there to confirm that, yes, he did just read that. With his curiosity giving him a crazed adrenaline rush, Jahaan hurriedly returned to examining the rest of the laboratory.

Potions and chemicals cluttered the shelves, residing in bottles and vials of various shapes and sizes, a technicolour cocktail recipe. Some sat atop piles of books, others held down documents. Most of their labels, if they had any, were faded from the passage of time, and Jahaan wasn't about to taste test them to find out what they were.

Another small notebook on the tabletop caught Jahaan's eye, perhaps from the beautiful aquamarine quill feather resting on top of it, starkly contrasting the black cover of the journal. Opening it up, Jahaan noted the handwriting was identical to that scrawled upon the blackboards, therefore it must have been written by Sliske. It too was in the Common Tongue.

Curiosity getting the better of him once more, he began to read...

_I have changed the world. I have taken the status quo and I have smashed it to pieces and scattered the shards across Gielinor. The Staff - the Siphon - was practically gifted to me. The dragonkin, weak and pathetic, trapped in my little shadow web... and then the Staff was mine. It was so simple, almost laughably so, that I can barely consider it an achievement._

_I have changed the world. I have used the Siphon to slay one of the most powerful beings to ever walk Gielinor. The great Guthix, felled by my hand, by my whim… by my destiny._

_Guthix, in his dying breath, created something new. The World Guardian, they have come to be called. The breadcrumb trail I left for Jahaan worked far better than I could have ever imagined._

"So he engineered all this?" Jahaan muttered dryly to himself, taking a deep breath.

At this point, the idea that Sliske had played a part in some events in his life no longer came as a surprise. He did, however, ponder just how far this particular 'breadcrumb trail' reached back to.

_Did he influence Sir Tiffy? Commander Denulth?_

The following pages remarked upon the return of the gods, including derisive commentary about the Battle of Lumbridge and Armadyl's slaying of Bandos. After that, Jahaan realised that several pages were missing, clearly torn out for some reason. A lot of the notebook became largely incomprehensible, with various strange diagrams doodled about the place. Most of the writing had been crossed out heavily.

Jahaan flicked through what remained, trying to find something he could decipher.

Then, right near the end, one last entry...

_The time has come. I had hoped to resolve this without resorting to force, but he has left me no choice. Our agreement was abandoned by his reckless temperament. It would have been so much easier if he'd just played along. I could have had his soul, and he could have had eternal youth - a wight in my service, by my side... _

_Perhaps I have gotten too… close. I might even start to miss him. But not for long. The way that mortal lives, he would be dead within the next twenty years anyway._

_Fortunately, it seems as though we are more similar than I could have ever hoped. Just a few tweaks here and there, a nudge in the right direction, and he'll be perfectly... _compatible_. I've researched this for too long to give up now. I'm so close. Too many test subjects have failed, countless souls shattered in my efforts. So here I am, pinning my last hope on the deranged ramblings of a madman._

_I have a plan. It might work, it might be the solution to my problem. I have most of the pieces right here and the rest I can easily obtain with only the slightest bit of subterfuge._

_Yes it will work._

_It has to..._

After returning the notebook to its place on the desk, one last thing caught Jahaan's eye.

In the centre of the dark wooden floor, a mystic diagram had been painted in purple and white, glowing brightly, like light itself was luminating from the etchings. The outer circumference was comprised of two purple circles, while inside white and purple triangles mirrored one another. Right at the centre was another bright white circle drawn in runes of the ancient magicks. Above it, floating around head height, a cluster of fizzing energy correlating into a globe shape.

When Jahaan approached it, he could feel his bones tingling from the magic it emitted.

Against his better judgement, he had the strongest urge to reach out and touch it…

The world around him was foggy and clouded, like he was seeing everything through a bowl of misty water. However, he could make out Sliske close to his vantage point, clutching onto the Staff of Armadyl and facing a large sphere that pulsed and crackled with energy.

The Stone of Jas.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Sliske remarked, wistfully.

"_What is"_

"_Beauty?"_

That mysterious voice was unfamiliar to Jahaan. It was hollow, yet deep. Impassive, yet commanding. Inhuman, certainly, but like no race Jahaan had ever encountered. The voice echoed and faded, swishing through his mind like calm waves on the shore.

Jahaan couldn't be sure if it was even real. Perhaps it was a conjuring of his imagination?

However, that theory died when Sliske turned towards Jahaan's vantage point and replied to its question, "Beauty… ahhh, beauty is what makes the world bearable. Without it, life is grey and empty. Beauty evokes pure emotion, and true beauty can bring empires to ruin or inspire the most evil men to heroic deeds."

"_Irrelevant," _the voice stated, unwavering in its dull conviction.

Sighing, Sliske replied, "Yes… I suppose you think it is."

Turning back to face the Stone, Sliske continued, "Thank you for the tip-off about this delightful thing by the way. I would never have found it on my own. It never occurred to me that the Staff could be used in such a fashion."

"_The Siphon"_

"_Has many uses"_

"Yes, and the look on that dragonkin's face was hilarious! To think, those fools just cast the Stone away, hoping that no-one would find it. They must have known it couldn't be hidden forever. Something like this… it wants to be found. It needs a user, false or otherwise."

The voice did not seem to care for Sliske's poetic ramblings, instead directly asking,

"_Will this"_

"_Bring them?"_

Sliske grinned. "Oh yes, very much so. The siren song of the Stone will bring all of the gods together. It will be a gathering like no other, a monumental occasion that everyone will yearn to observe."

"_Pointless words"_

"_Make it happen"_

Narrowing his eyes, Sliske bit his tongue to keep the sharpness from his voice. "Yes, of course. I live to serve…"

When the world rippled back into reality, Jahaan fought to get the echoed voice of the mysterious being out of his mind. It seemed to seep through him like ink, cloying and domineering. It was only once he realised just how long he'd been that he snapped himself back into focus.

Just as he was about to leave, however, he saw something glint underneath a pile of messed up papers. Pushing the papers to one side, Jahaan uncovered an ornate letter opener, its handle delicately carved out of elder logs. The blade was thin and fragile, probably made out of nothing better than light steel. Such a weapon wouldn't be able to pierce through Sliske's armoured robes - heck, it probably couldn't even stab through his thick skin - but the edge was sharp; if he could slice somewhere delicate, or perhaps use it on one of the Barrows Brothers at the right time…

These thoughts were enough to convince Jahaan to tuck the blade into the back of his belt, rolling his shirt over it to conceal its presence.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	40. Quest 09: Our Spirits, Kindred (Ch5)

**Quest 09: Our Spirits, Kindred**

**Chapter 5 - A Malice Unleashed**

When Ariane is kidnapped and the signs point to Sliske, Jahaan is forced to confront the Mahjarrat once again. But this time, things take a turn for the twisted, and Jahaan uncovers the truth behind Sliske's obsession with him. Can Jahaan survive Sliske's games? After all, broken bones heal faster than a broken mind...

* * *

_Meanwhile…_

"So we need to make sure Sliske doesn't notice Jahaan's missing?" Ariane surmised.

Rolling her eyes, Idria remarked, "How are we supposed to do that? The creep doesn't take his eyes off him…"

"Leave it to me," Ozan assured, leading them all into the next chamber, trying not to let it show just how exhausted he was. His injuries were flaring up again, pain pulsing inside his bandages, and the stress of the situation threatened to bring forth a migraine. His shattered ankle was a new kind of agony, making the simple act of standing up a tremendous effort, but he tried not to let it show. There was no time for wallowing or self-pitying, Ozan told himself, knowing he had to do everything he could to get Ariane and the others out of there safely.

He'd never forgive himself if anything happened to Ariane on his watch.

Unfortunately, he had very little to work with under the circumstances. Like Jahaan, he had been stripped of all his weapons. Nevertheless, Ozan's smart mouth was as deadly as any bow he could wield, succeeding in getting him both in and out of trouble on many an occasion. So, he thought it best to utilise it here, hoping he could keep Sliske talking long enough to help out Jahaan. Any time he bought was a victory.

Already suspicious, Sliske peered over Ozan's shoulder, glaring through the group. "Where's Jahaan?"

"He's still throwing up after the whole Sir Tenly thing," Ozan crossed his arms over his chest, hoping his conviction came across as genuine and not a facade. "Give the guy a break."

It seemed to take, for Sliske rolled his eyes and chuckled, "You humans with your fragile consistencies. Fine, fine. I suppose we're in no rush."

Sizing Ozan up with a keen eye, Sliske said, "We haven't properly been introduced, you and I."

"It feels like we have, though," Ozan replied, carefully dangling out his words like they were fishing line. "I know a lot about you from what Jahaan has said. Or, in some ways, what he _hasn't_ said."

Ozan had met a ridiculous amount of characters on his travels, a fair few of which he needed on his side for one reason or another. To accomplish this, each had to be handled in the right way in order to not let the stove pot boil over, so to speak. It was like picking a lock - find what makes them tick, don't apply too much pressure, be patient. From what he gathered, Sliske was one wrong step away from disengaging completely, and he needed to give Jahaan more time. So, Ozan knew to keep it fairly light, to not back the Mahjarrat into a corner, and to favour simpler questions over the more pressing, problematic ones.

He also needed to keep Sliske entertained, curious and baited. In many ways, it was like keeping a small child distracted, though with vastly different consequences for failure.

It seemed to work, for an intrigued glimmer shone across Sliske's features. "Oh really? Do tell."

"Well, he spoke of you at the Ritual, the way you saved his life," Ozan began, carefully. "Then of course, the way you masqueraded as that archeologist to get inside Guthix's chamber. You really made him paranoid with that one, you know."

Friendly, colloquial, casual. Ozan had to keep Sliske relaxed, had to talk to him like he would anyone else. "He attacked me in a bar once thinking I was you. So that was nice," Ozan allowed a light chuckle into his words, relaxing his stance.

"I know. I was there," Sliske's grin doubled in size.

Eyes wide, Ozan was legitimately surprised. "You're kidding!"

"Not in the slightest!" Sliske assured, gleefully. "I had a great view of the show! Of course, Jahaan cottoned on soon enough and ruined the game, but it was fun while it lasted."

Chuckling, Ozan remarked, "He can be a little dangerous with too much liquor in his system."

"Ah, I know that too," Sliske's eyes flashed, casually rubbing his chin. "He's an interesting specimen."

"But he's more than just a specimen to you, right?" Ozan's tone was slightly hushed. He didn't give much time for Sliske to formulate a response, continuing, "I mean, you were the one that got Jahaan and me out of harm's way. I see what he sees in you."

Crinkling his brow, Sliske's tone became guarded, yet fused with curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"Well, let's just say, there was a reason he kept that invitation box of yours all this time."

Ozan was near certain this was exactly what Sliske wanted to hear. It kept him enraptured, at least, which was what they needed now.

Capitalising, Ozan tested the dangerous waters, wading in by asking, "With that in mind, why did you bring Cyrius to him?"

From the way Sliske's expression changed, Ozan knew he'd made a mistake. "That is not your concern. Cyrius played the part that he needed to play."

"You knew how Jahaan felt," Ozan guessed. It wasn't a stretch. "And you know what happened when he lost him. If you cared about him, why would you bring back such memories?"

Ozan knew he was losing the thread here, but his own anger was getting the best of him. He wanted - no, needed answers - and biting his tongue was becoming more painful than how his burn scars felt.

"We must confront our demons if we are to ever conquer them," Sliske's stance grew more guarded, his face slightly colder and more neutral. "We both know that Jahaan changed on the day that Cyrius and the others were killed. Gone were the days of monster slaying, scaling treacherous mountains and freeing comatose Mahjarrat from their pyramid prisons. No, he lost the light behind his eyes. Then, he found service in the Imperial Guard, fighting Bandos' mindless beasts. While it was good to see him fighting instead of moping, the routine… ah, it grew so stale. It was counterproductive."

"It was stability," Ozan corrected, his eyes narrowing into slits. "It was what he needed."

"Repetitive, tedious…" Sliske continued, as if Ozan hadn't spoken at all. "No, he needed a change of scenery. So, I played my part and set the wheels in motion."

"Let me guess, you got to Commander Denulth?"

"He was easy to persuade," Sliske confirmed, wringing his palms together. "Everything fell into place after that."

Ozan could see how pleased Sliske was with himself, his ego getting a generous boost as the conversation continued. "So you planned for him to become the World Guardian?"

"Ah," Sliske clapped his hands together, long fingers pressing against each other to emit a soft squeak from the leather of his gloves. "That was more of an... unintended consequence. But a fortunate one, wouldn't you agree?"  
Ozan bit his lip. "Fortunate? Not how I'd put it."

"How would you put it, then?" Sliske went on to say, "It's not everyone who gets to mix it up with Gielinor's divine. And yours truly, of course. In many ways, he's better than ever."

Ozan caught onto the slight edge in Sliske's voice, one that betrayed what the Mahjarrat was really thinking. It was clear that neither of them believed a word Sliske was saying.

Jahaan was a great fighter, a decent man and someone Guthix deemed worthy enough to declare Gielinor's guardian. But Jahaan was now under pressure, too much of it. He could be volatile and reckless, and though he tried his best to hide it from everyone, Jahaan was fraying at the edges. He'd been thrown back into the adventuring world of his past too forcefully, and with too much at stake. That letter from Commander Denulth had sparked Jahaan's undoing. Ozan knew it, and he was certain Sliske did too. The only one who seemed oblivious was Jahaan himself.

While they were conversing, Mary Rancour edged over towards Idria. Rancour had her arms huddled across her chest, hugging herself, despite trying to keep a steely resolve. "How much longer do you think Jahaan will be?"

"I don't know," Idria confessed, disheartenedly. "But we've got to buy him as much time as possible."

"I wonder how many more of these sick games Sliske has planned for us."

"Hopefully this'll be the last," Idria bit her lip. "I guess we'll just have to tough it out and help Jahaan as best we can."

Mary Rancour responded by grumbling something under her breath; Idria could sense her distress, inquiring, "What's the matter?"

"It's just… That's kind of the point of all of this, isn't it? We're reduced to holding out for Jahaan to come swinging in and save us. We wouldn't even be here if Sliske wasn't so obsessed with him. Don't give me that look. I feel I have earned at least a little rant. Look, I lost my husband and two sons to the trolls. I have broken every bone in my body fighting those monsters. I've grown old and grey before my time, and for what? Sliske captures a magic stone, the gods return and now nobody cares about monsters killing villagers in Burthorpe. And even if they do, they turn to the 'World Guardian'. Not Major Rancour, who bled and struggled to keep them safe. I caught two guards the other day; both of them were slacking off in their duties. I reprimanded them, and do you know what they said? 'It's fine, Jahaan will take care of any trolls that get through'. I… I almost overreacted. It's like they think he's some sort of superhuman now. He's just a man, no better than me, or you, or any of them."

Idria considered this for a moment. "Wow. I had no idea you felt this way. I… I'm sorry. But I guess it puts it all in perspective."

"What?"

Idria turned her gaze towards the Barrows Brothers, who were keeping silent guard around the edges of the chamber. "The way the Barrows Brothers sold out to Sliske all those years ago. Why settle for mediocrity all your life when you can lead a glorious crusade? Imagine how easily you could best the trolls with some of those weapons, or an army of wights?"

Mary Rancour's half-hearted smile was wry. "Believe me, I've thought of it. But the price…"

"...Is never worth it," Idria finished. With a genuine smile, she said, "It was good speaking to you, Major."

"You too, Idria."

By now, Ozan realised he was struggling to keep his words in check. Sliske was capable of bringing the worst out of Jahaan, and it seemed like Ozan suffered similar side effects from the Mahjarrat's dark presence. Everything Sliske had put his best friend through, the world through… now culminating in the kidnapping of Ariane… Ozan's mind was full of storm clouds, and he fought with everything he had to stop them from breaking open.

However, he didn't last much longer, and having taken too long to formulate the right answer to Sliske's latest question, the penny dropped.

"Come to think of it, where is Jahaan?" Sliske wondered, drawing out his words with a suspicious rattle.

"Uhhh… he'll be here soon," Ozan gulped, taking a tentative step backwards, wincing as he accidentally put the wrong amount of weight on his ankle. "What, can't stand five minutes without him?"

He trailed off with a nervous laugh, but the second the words had come out of his mouth, his throat went dry. He knew he'd cut the wrong wire.

There was a beat of silence that seemed to last for a lifetime, causing the air around them all to turn thick and cloying.

As he cottoned on to Ozan's plan, his sulphur eyes went wide before narrowing into slits; shadows converged around their master with malicious intent. "Oh you're good, Ozan. Very good. But I've had enough of your stalling. Tell me where Jahaan is, or you'll live to regret it, however briefly."

"I'm here Sliske," Jahaan announced, strolling into the chamber with as much confidence as he could muster.

Jahaan's timing was impeccable; Ozan let out a shaky breath, trying not to let anyone know just how relieved he was to have the Mahjarrat's eyes away from him, for now at least. But the relief didn't last long as soon as he clocked that Jahaan had returned alone and unarmed.

At this rate, Ozan knew he'd have to try something drastic. So, when the Barrows Brothers were summoned to guard himself and the other hostages, Ozan made sure to shuffle next to Karil, who had a pouch of bolts just out of reach. Knowing that obtaining one of them could be a game changer, he waited for the right time to put his nimble fingers to good use.

"Where have you been?" Sliske snapped, before shaking his head and instead saying, "It doesn't matter. Your lies would only annoy me. You know what? Game over. I've had a good time, and whatever you were planning would ruin that. So congratulations, time for the winner to claim their prize!"

"Enough bullshitting, Sliske," Jahaan rested his hands on his hips, defiance in his eyes. "Let the hostages go and we can talk about why you really brought me here."

Raising an eyebrow, Sliske entertained him. "Oh? And why did I really bring you here, hm?"

"I read your notebooks, or journals, or whatever they are," Jahaan stated, enjoying the flash of indignation in Sliske's eyes. "When I refused to give you my soul, you decided to take it for yourself. These sick games were a way of making me 'compatible'. And all of this because some lunatic guessed my name centuries ago…"

Inhaling a sharp breath, Sliske demanded, "How do you know about _him_?"

With a self-satisfied sneer, one he'd seen on the Mahjarrat too many times, Jahaan replied, "_Ego loqui Infernal, vos retorta irrumabo._ What's the matter, Sliske? Not what you were expecting?"

Sliske was too stunned to formulate one of his usual witty replies. No, instead, he looked genuinely shocked, confused… and with a steadily building fury in his eyes.

Moreover, he looked fit to hurt. "You weren't supposed to read that..."

"Well I have. All of it. So you might as well be honest for once in your miserable life."

"I _was_ honest with you," Sliske growled, venom in his fangs. "I told you of my intentions. We had an agreement. You reneged. You could have made this much less painful for yourself."

"You felt betrayed?" Jahaan let out a sharp laugh, his teeth bared and challenging. "Don't like the taste of your own medicine, hm? Well, what did you expect me to do? Hand over my soul to you on a silver platter? You'd get an afterlife, but I guess you don't care where that leaves me. You never cared at all, did you? Oh, you were good at pretending - hell, you… you had me believing - but you were just using me this whole time. So tell me, why didn't you just rip my soul out of me the first chance you got? Why not send me screaming into the abyss?"

Sliske's fists were shaking now, erratic breathing struggling to be calmed. "To… to even think for a second that-"

The bolt whizzed passed the back of Sliske's head, a good foot away from the target.

Jahaan was just as startled as Sliske, seeing the bolt fly past him too. Only once he saw Guthan and Karil manhandle Ozan to the ground did he realise where the attack had originated. Unfortunately Ozan's attempt at assassinating the Mahjarrat had failed, his normally perfect aim hindered by his lasting injuries. Nevertheless, Jahaan knew he had to try and make the spontaneous opportunity count. Surging forwards, he whisked the letter opener from his belt, hoping to make it to Sliske before the Mahjarrat realised what was happening.

It all seemed to go so well; Sliske's interest was on Ozan, his back turned to Jahaan. Even as the man got closer to striking, Sliske didn't even seem to register his motions.

Until he did.

Jahaan was so close, too close, when Sliske slipped out of the way, using Jahaan's forward momentum to his disadvantage as he spun around, grabbed Jahaan's wrist and snapped the blade from his hands, along with snapping the bone in the process. The sickening crunch confirmed as much before the pain even registered. Tossing his hand aside, Sliske then grabbed Jahaan by the throat, lifting him high into the air before launching him thirty, forty, fifty feet across the room. Jahaan crashed into the stone wall behind him with a shattering force, falling to the ground in a heap.

The lights cut out for Jahaan as soon as his head impacted the wall. Begrudgingly, he was pulled awake by Sliske dragging him to his knees by his hair, though at the rate his mind was spinning, he didn't register the movement, nor the inherent pain that came with it.

It took a punch across his jaw that knocked out a tooth to force him back into focus.

Several more blows landed across his nose, chin and stomach. Sliske was punctuating each jab with words, but Jahaan couldn't make a single one of them out, struggling to remain lucid among the beating. Until, that is, Sliske held Jahaan by the collar of his shirt and growled, "I told you, World Guardian… actions have consequences."

Sliske targeted three more precise and fearsome strikes against Jahaan's previously cracked ribs, easily reigniting the previous damage. Jahaan fell forwards, but Sliske caught him, sharply kneeing him in the stomach before slamming his head back into the wall. He held him there, watching Jahaan's half-lidded, barely conscious eyes roll into the back of his head. Once he released his grip, Jahaan crumbled lifelessly to the ground.

Finally sated, Sliske walked away.

Idria, Ariane and Mary Rancour watched in horrified, aghast silence as Jahaan fell to the floor. Inside the grasp of the Barrows Brothers that were restraining them, the three were visibly shaking. Mary Rancour's mouth hung agape, loosely trying to form a call, a cry, anything to try and rouse Jahaan, but it was for nought. In her line of work, she'd seen battle, bruises and brutality, but nothing so… malevolent. Ariane's eyes darted between Jahaan and Ozan, the latter struggling fruitlessly in the hold of Guthan and Karil, screaming obscenities. His face was a dark shade of crimson, his eyes bloodshot and tone quickly becoming hoarse.

Gulping, Idria's eyes were locked solely on Jahaan as she mumbled, "By Armadyl, is he still breathing?"

Her question was answered in the form of Jahaan slowly beginning to stir. He moved an arm first, then a leg, slowly regaining life into his limbs. All the while, his head was a pounding mess of screams and colours; with each throb, his vision blurred more and more. Clawing at the ground, he struggled to right himself, attempting to pull himself up to his knees. Instead, his limbs protested agonizingly, buckling under the weight and forcing him back down with a whimper. Roughly, his face scraped against the stone cold floor, his body convulsing as he coughed up blood.

Looking down upon Jahaan, Sliske's eyes were empty of compassion. "So, you want honesty. Is that right, World Guardian?"

Through the ringing in his ears, Jahaan could barely string his own thoughts together, let alone decipher Sliske's words. He was too busy trying to remember where he was, and why everything was hurting so damn much.

Sliske's eyes practically burned with yellow fire, though the face housing them was deathly stoic. "Then here's the truth for you: I didn't want to say this, but your soul is damaged goods. It was shattered into a million pieces and barely put back together. You should be grateful that I'm even interested in it."

Summoning the Staff of Armadyl to his hands, the shadows slithering around the room converged at Sliske's feet. "But you've read my notes. You know why I am. If it's any consolation, I have grown rather fond of you. I believe the bond we share is greater than that of friends, brothers, or even _lovers_. If I had to put a label on our relationship, I'd say we're akin to _soulmates_."

Letting out a hollow, mirthless ghost of a laugh, Sliske said, "A fitting term, wouldn't you agree?"

Motioning towards Guthan and Karil, the two brothers brought Ozan closer to Sliske, forcing the young man to his knees as he groaned in protest, failing to shake off their grasp. Sauntering over, Sliske gazed down in cold amusement as Ozan glared daggers at him. Cupping the man's chin, Sliske remarked, "A clever one, aren't you? Yes, you'll do quite nicely…"

Stepping back to the centre of the expanse, Sliske turned back to Jahaan, who was still curled over on the ground. The corners of his mouth upturned cruelly.

Loudly, so to break through the volcano storming inside Jahaan's head, Sliske continued, "None of this had to happen, World Guardian. You chose to betray me. I was happy to sacrifice one of my kin for your cause. Had you kept up your end of the bargain, none of your friends would have had to suffer, I would have extracted your soul without such torture, and you could have spent eternity as a youthful wight. But plans have changed…"

Turning with a cruel sneer to Ozan, Sliske was all malice. "I no longer care for your presence, World Guardian. I'll still have your soul, though. But one of the last things I want you to see before I send you 'screaming into the abyss', as you so poetically put it, is another wight to be added to my collection."

"NO!" Ariane screamed, struggling desperately against the hold of Ahrim, but he easily outpowered her. "DON'T TOUCH HIM!"

But such an outburst only made Sliske laugh, a terrifying, haunting cackle that rattled inside Ariane's chest. Ozan was wide-eyed and terrified, helpless against the weight of two brothers holding him down, their half-dead claws digging into the burns on his arms.

"S-Stop…"

The ridges of Sliske's eyes lifted in perverse amusement. "What was that, World Guardian?"

Dragging himself to his knees, Jahaan coughed up another cocktail of bile and blood, trying to orient himself to being upright while the world spun around him. Blinking away the tears in his eyes still left light pulsing through his retinas in crude splotches. Everything was out of focus, Sliske included, but Jahaan managed to lock onto the tall silhouette. Fragments of his memory were returning at a snail's pace.

"Stop…" Jahaan repeated, clutching his broken ribs, wincing through the pain. He was shivering violently, his head hung low, unable to lift it. "Please... stop…"

Lowering the Staff, Sliske slowly turned around and looked down at Jahaan with the satisfied glint of a predator who had cornered their prey. A stiff slash of a smile stretched across his face, warped like broken glass. "Well, isn't this a sight to behold. The mighty World Guardian, Gielinor's brave hero and Guthix's chosen one… on his knees and begging."

"You don't need to hurt him," Jahaan's speech was slurred, blood dripping from the gaps in his knocked out teeth, but he managed to stop shivering enough to speak somewhat coherently. "You don't need his soul. You need mine. I won't fight anymore. You can make me a wight, you can kill me, I don't care. Take my soul and let them leave. Please…"

Clenching his fist tightly around the Staff, Sliske's low voice was ever so slightly wobbly as he said, "You know, Jahaan, I believed you the last time you said that. For all the chances you had to end me, you couldn't, and I believed you truly didn't want to see me gone. You accuse ME of only _pretending _to care, but perhaps you should examine yourself before throwing around such accusations."

He turned away from Jahaan, a determined resolve acting as his mask. "It's too late for us now, Jahaan. You've… hurt me. And now I'm going to return the favour."

In the blink of an eye, Sliske reeled back the Staff, then thrust it forward and channeled a spell from it. Blue energy poured from the tip, striking Ozan's chest. The heaviness of the energy pulled Ozan down like gravity; he felt like he was going to be dragged through the stone underneath him.

"NO!" Ariane cried out, watching in horror as Ozan writhed in pain, attached to Sliske's beam. Idria and Mary Rancour were paralysed, transfixed by the sheer torturous power on display.

It could only be described as a miraculous bolt of adrenaline, but something gave Jahaan the strength to pull himself to his feet. He propelled towards the light with the desperation of an crazed animal. Everything was just blurs and colours and shapes, but Jahaan ran headfirst regardless, no plan in his mind except for '_KILL'_.

He didn't make it far enough; while keeping the Staff and his grip on Ozan firm, Sliske shot a powerful bolt of shadow magic behind him. The spell collided with Jahaan at such force that he flew back to where he'd just crawled from, causing the world to go black.

When the beam from the Staff ceased, Ozan fell lifeless to the ground.

After a few beats of horrified, sickening silence, Ozan suddenly began to stir. Slowly, he came to his feet at an almost robot pace. Ariane only allowed herself a mere second of relief before she realised what was happening, and reality sunk in. Ozan marched over to Sliske's side and turned around, staring through her with hollow, pupilless eyes.

Ariane knew she couldn't let her emotions, her desperation, her grief control her in that moment. She needed to remain strong. She needed to keep calm and focus.

Ozan wouldn't want her to break down, not now, when innocent lives were at stake.

They had to escape or this cavern would be their tomb.

Then, miraculously, an idea came to her. Using strength she didn't know she had, she wrestled one hand free from Ahrim's grip, disorienting the undead brother with her rapid movements. She reached out for the wand that he kept holstered at his hip, but could only brush the edge with her fingertips. The next thing she knew, she was on the ground, as was Ahrim.

"Ariane, NOW!" Idria shrieked. The Guardian of Armadyl had launched herself and the brother holding her into Ariane, causing all of them to topple to the floor. Fortunately for them, the downside of wights is that, without constant instruction, they were slow on the uptake. Thus, Ariane managed to throw herself towards Ahrim's wand and snatch it up before she could be subdued.

Knowing she only had one chance, Ariane had to make this spell count. Taking aim at Sliske was far too risky. Instead, she aimed at the rocky ceiling above them and channeled the strongest spell she could. Upon impact, the cavern's supports crumbled instantly. Rocks crashed to the ground, effectively creating a barricade between them and Sliske. But as she could still hear the Mahjarrat's booming voice, she knew it wouldn't be long at all before he broke through.

Now, they had to RUN.

Throughout all of this, Jahaan was slipping effortlessly in and out of consciousness.

So, he didn't notice when Mary Rancour picked him up and slung him over her shoulder.

He also didn't notice the four of them charging through the maze of tunnels, praying at every turn they'd find a rope or a ladder to ascend them to the surface.

He didn't notice when the Barrows Brothers broke through the rocks and stormed after them, nor did he notice Ozan among their ranks.

He did, however, notice when they found a rope ladder leading up towards a trap door, as Mary Rancour accidentally dropped him trying to steady herself on the ladder.

With his head spinning like a throwing disk, he tried to blink the blurriness out of his eyes long enough to go, "W-Whereee am-?"

But the very next second, he was being hauled to his feet, his hands placed onto the ladder as he was furiously instructed to "CLIMB!"

Oh, he tried to protest - his body practically screamed with objection - but the sound of Idria's pleadings, the sight of Ariane's fearful eyes, and the way even Mary Rancour looked like she'd seen a ghost she was desperate to outrun triggered some residual survival instinct within Jahaan, and it allowed him to climb the ladder.

When all four made it out, Mary Rancour quickly found a sharp-edged rock to cut the rope ladder behind them, and her and Idria sealed off the trapdoor by heaving a large stone slab on top of it.

Doubled over on the ground with exhaustion, they fought for breath through rasping throats and manic-beating hearts. All except for Jahaan, who didn't move at all.

"Oh gods," Ariane leapt over to him. "He keeps slipping out of consciousness. We need to get him to a healer. NOW."

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	41. Quest 09: Our Spirits, Kindred (Ch6)

**Quest 09: Our Spirits, Kindred**

**Chapter 6 - The Fallen Hero**

When Ariane is kidnapped and the signs point to Sliske, Jahaan is forced to confront the Mahjarrat once again. But this time, things take a turn for the twisted, and Jahaan uncovers the truth behind Sliske's obsession with him. Can Jahaan survive Sliske's games? After all, broken bones heal faster than a broken mind...

* * *

Getting Jahaan to a healer wasn't as simple as it sounded, especially once the group clocked on that they were in the middle of nowhere.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, a panting Mary Rancour's shoulders sagged. "Where… where are we?"

Below them, the ground was charred and ashen, coarse and tainted. The same black clouded the skies above them, perpetual darkness seeping as far as the eye could see. The trees around them had died years ago, their clawing branches creating eerie shadows, lifeless and haunted. There was a biting chill in the air, and the ever-present feeling of a thousand eyes staring them down…

Gulping, Idria was the first to utter its name, "It's the Wilderness."

The Wilderness was a large and dangerous wasteland which made up nearly the entirety of north-eastern Gielinor - with the exception of the Daemonheim peninsula - situated directly north of the kingdoms of Asgarnia and Misthalin. This area was formerly known as Forinthry. It was a lush and green land at the time Gielinor was discovered by Guthix. But during the God Wars, Forinthry's glory came to an end.

When facing off against the alliance of Saradomin, Armadyl and Bandos, a desperate Zamorak siphoned energy from the Stone of Jas to destroy them. While he didn't succeed in killing the other deities, he caused a massive explosion that swept across the entire continent, turning it into the cursed wasteland that is known today as the Wilderness.

Such horrifying destruction caused the Anima Mundi - the life force of the world - to cry out in agony, which awoke Guthix from his long slumber. Soon, the Edicts of Guthix were put in place, and the gods were banished from Gielinor. The wars ended, but the damage was done; many races like the aviansies, icyenes, ourgs, and wyrms were almost wiped out of existence, and all of Gielinor suffered from the effects of the wars.

But not one kingdom suffered as heavily as Forinthry.

Today, many ruins of mighty cities still remain in these lands, barely recognisable as the great settlements they once were. All that was left were piles of bricks, and around them were the spirits of the creatures who died during the God Wars, too restless to pass onto the afterlife.

Suddenly, Ariane's ears pricked up. "Do you hear that?"

Rising to a defensive posture, Mary Rancour confirmed, "Voices."

Silhouettes soon appeared over the horizon, a group of people walking in their direction, featureless in the distance.

Looking around the barren wasteland for anything that could be used as a weapon, Idria asked, "Do you think they're bandits?"

"Probably," Ariane confirmed, biting the inside of her cheek. "Looks like a lot of them. We'll be outnumbered."

"We could run?" Idria suggested.

Sniffing a dark laugh, Mary Rancour countered, "Where to? Lumbering Jahaan around, they'll be on us in no time. No, we stand our ground. If we're lucky, they'll rob us and be on their way."

"We have nothing worth robbing!" Ariane snapped, "I did not escape Sliske's hellhole just to be murdered by some rouges."

Idria, instead of joining in on the bickering, was fixated upon the incoming group, her squinting, curious eyes trying to focus upon their leader. Slowly, she began to walk in their direction.

"Where are you going?" Mary Rancour hissed, but Idria shushed her. The Guardian of Armadyl's heart was going a mile a minute. Soon, she quickened her pace, daring to call out, "Razbawn? Razbawn!"

The silhouettes stopped moving briefly, their mumbled chatter floating towards Idria. Soon the tallest figure called back, "Idria? Is that you?"

Thanking Armadyl for her blessed luck, she cried back, "Get over here! We need help!"

As she ran back to Jahaan and the others, Razbawn's group quickly emerged into view, hurrying after her. There were about a dozen of them, armed and kitted up for battle.

"What are you doing out here, Idria?" Razbawn demanded, looking shiftily around him. "These are dangerous parts!"

Razbawn was an Armadylean archon, the fierce leader of an Armadylean warband. Warbands were a basic raid and defend occurrence that took place in the Wilderness, with each warband fighting to overtake and protect storage camps guarded by the followers of the different Gods. These camps are founded to gain an advantage for the followers of a particular God. Partaking in Wilderness Warbands was something Armadyl reluctantly turned a blind eye to. These bandits were going to take advantage of the Wilderness anyway, but at least they were doing it in his name. At the same time, they helped to show the might of Armadyl's warriors when faced up against the armies of other gods.

Razbawn wore no armour on his torso, boldly (and recklessly) relying on his bulky shoulder and wrist guards to hopefully absorb any incoming attack. He also didn't wear much on his bottom half either, relying on a rugged looking plateskirt to protect him. Around his neck, Razbawn donned a dream-catcher-esque necklace with the Armadylean wings in the centre. He had a headdress shaped like an eagle's skull, decedent golden feathers protruding from the back, and boots that had steel tips, shaped to resemble talons.

Behind him was a group of Armadylean myrmidons, fighters donned in similar attire, only with full robes underneath their armour to cover their skin. Most were melee fighters, but Idria spotted a couple of archers among their ranks, all wielding the illustrious Armadyl crossbow.

"We have no time to explain," Idria stepped out from in front of Jahaan, motioning down out the barely conscious man and saying, "Our friend needs a healer. Can you teleport us to civilisation?"

Immediately, Razbawn knelt down by Jahaan's side, quickly checking him over without shifting the man in any painful direction. "No signs of bleeding. He looks concussed. What happened to him?"

"Long story. No time," Mary Rancour hurried them along. "Please, can you help us?"

Shaking his head, Razbawn woefully declared, "You can't teleport here, we're too deep into the Wilderness."

Collectively, their hearts sunk. There was a curse placed upon the Wilderness. It prevented any of its occupants from teleporting if they ventured too deep into its depths. Thus, anyone forced into a combat situation could not escape. No-one really knows the origin of this curse, but its another one of the many reasons for the unprepared to avoid the Wilderness at all costs.

One of the archers stepped forward and removed an amulet from around his neck. The ruby in the centre was dull and lifeless. Handing it to Idria, he stated, "This will teleport you to Armadyl's nest. We'll escort you south until the amulet regains energy. Right, Razbawn?"

Nodding, Razbawn added, "It won't be too long of a journey - we're by the Forgotten Cemetery. It's about a mile or two south for the teleport block to fade. Don't worry, your friend will be fine. Braddan, pick him up."

A burly looking gentleman proceeded to lift Jahaan into his arms with all the exertion of carrying groceries. Jahaan barely stirred. He was in a groggy state of semi-awakeness throughout the entire half an hour walk. During which, fortunately, there was very little incident. A few skeletons made eyes at their party, but the archers made short work of them. At one point, in the distance to the west, voices could be heard and figures started emerging into view, but thankfully they re-directed themselves in a different direction. Ariane could only spot three of them; they must have been put off due to being woefully outnumbered.

After walking for long enough, Idria felt her palm start to tingle as the amulet was brought back to life. Calling for everyone to halt, she turned to the warband and said, "We're here. I can't thank you enough, Razbawn. Everyone. Good luck on the raid."

Braddan passed Jahaan back over to Mary Rancour, who needed Ariane's help to catch him and take half the weight. Her previous adrenaline rush where she carried him throughout Sliske's cave had long since worn off, replaced instead with the relentless aching of her tired limbs.

Nodding to the Guardian, Razbawn replied, "I hope your friend recovers soon. Go with Armadyl, all of you."

As soon as the teleport spell sent them to the nest, Mary Rancour and Ariane collapsed to the ground, losing their footing as they tried and failed to balance themselves and Jahaan upon landing.

Idria, managing to stay upright, didn't waste any time before calling out, "Medic! We need a medic over here!"

Upon their clumsy arrival, numerous heads were turned, and soon a group of avianse had crowded round to assist them. One of them, recognising Idria, asked, "Guardian, what happened here?"

Turning to the falcon-headed female, Idria hurriedly replied, "No time, Talak. Where's your healer? We need to get this man to the medical bay, right now."

Talak gasped. "This is the World Guardian!"

By now, the avianse had helped Ariane and Mary Rancour to their feet. Two others held Jahaan upright, basically carrying his dead weight as the young man didn't have any strength in his legs.

"I'll introduce you later," Idria blew her fringe from in front of her eyes. "Right now, medical bay."

There were many medical bays in the fortress, but unfortunately, the closest one also happened to be the smallest. It was more of an observation and recuperation facility, with only a dozen beds, half of them currently occupied by resting avianse awaiting to be discharged by Gaw'kara.

Gaw'kara resembled a heron, tall and slender, with sharp eyes that pierced into their target. His thin feathers were neatly trimmed, orderly and pristine. He was the chief healer at this particular station, having practiced modern medicine since his time on Abbinah. He was never a fighter; his talents lied outside the battlefield, treating the wounded. Thus, he was fortunate enough to not be in Forinthry when the majority of his kind were wiped out of existence. He was back at one of the fortresses, attending to his patients.

He never thought himself fortunate, though.

As soon as he heard the bustle coming from outside, he rested his clipboard down on the bedside table next to the sleeping patient he was attending, awaiting the commotion patiently.

He wasn't expecting half the flock, alongside four humans, to come barrelling into his domain.

Locking onto the condition Jahaan was in, he motioned towards the nearest free bed and hurried over to his side, summoning his assistant with a click of his fingers.

"Set him down here," Gaw'kara's voice was a lot warmer and smoother than was expected, a lot more soothing than his somewhat intimidating physique.

The avianse laid him down on the thin mattress, trying to be as careful as possible. Jahaan stirred slightly with a slurred groan.

Addressing the gaggle crowding around Jahaan's bedside, Gaw'kara asserted, "Not all of you can stay. There isn't enough-"

"I'll stay," Ariane affirmed, resolutely. Seeing the determined look in her eyes, Idria and Mary Rancour didn't even try and talk her out of it.

As the rest of the humans and avianse dispersed out of the medical bay, Gaw'kara urged, "What happened to him? Tell me exactly."

Rubbing the side of her aching temples, Ariane forced herself to repeat the preceding events, the memories more painful as the thumping in her head. "He… he was beaten. A lot. Thrown into a wall, punched in the ribs and face… he's been in and out of consciousness. I think he's got a bad concussion."

Propping up Jahaan slightly with another pillow, he tilted the man's chin upwards, but garnered no response.

"Get the guam," Gaw'kara ordered to the avianse assisting him, who handed over a pestle and mortar with the ground leaf inside of it. After adding a couple of droplets of a violet liquid, Gaw'kara dipped a small cloth into it and held it to Jahaan's nose. After a few seconds, the young man awoke with a start, throwing himself forwards and doubling over in the process. Moving so suddenly proved far too painful; Jahaan fell back down onto the bed with a high-pitched wail.

Gently, but firmly, Gaw'kara held him there. "It's Jahaan, isn't it? The World Guardian? Calm down. You're going to be fine."

Wide-eyed and panicked, Jahaan fought against Gaw'kara's hold, but he had no strength to do so. "G-Get off me, dragonkin!" he hissed, his blurred vision making a terrible mistake.

Quickly, Ariane hurried into view. "Jahaan, it's me, Ariane. He's not a dragonkin, he's an avianse. He's here to help you. Relax, okay?"

Despite his rapid breathing, Jahaan started to calm himself. "A-Ariane? How did you get away from Sliske? Where are we? Where's Ozan?"

That last question hit a bolt straight to the centre of Ariane's chest. Stepping backwards, she simply replied, "This is Gaw'kara. Just listen to him and do what he says. Can you do that?"

Nodding meekly, Jahaan found himself overcome with tiredness, all his meagre energy being exerted in that last jolt. Seeing him slipping back under, Gaw'kara nudged him back into alertness, saying, "Jahaan, I need you to stay awake for a little longer while we have a talk, then you can rest. Is that okay with you?"

Jahaan mumbled something inaudible, so Gaw'kara pressed, "Jahaan? I'm going to need you to speak more clearly."

Gaw'kara had an awfully reassuring tone. It was so comforting and smooth you could forgive just how patronising he was being. It was the healer's way, of course. It worked in relaxing people more often than it annoyed them, and Jahaan was not one to complain right now.

"Right, yeah, okay," Jahaan replied, taking a deep, strained breath to try and keep himself lucid and focused. His words were slurred from the gaps in his teeth, drool escaping onto his stained shirt below.

Satisfied, Gaw'kara started his examination. It didn't take much for him to feel the bulging lump forming on the back of Jahaan's head. From his drowsy and confused state, coupled with the way the injury was inflicted, a concussion was undoubtable. Gaw'kara proceeded to ask a few questions, simple ones that Ariane could fact check, or ones that were common knowledge. Knowing he was treating the World Guardian didn't change a thing - Jahaan was just another injured soul who needed to heal. Treating humans wasn't that different from treating avianse, when it came right down to it, and Gaw'kara had treated enough of both in his time.

Motioning Ariane to one side, Gaw'kara whispered, "He's definitely concussed. How severely is something we'll need to monitor, to avoid any complications. After I've finished assessing him, we'll need to keep waking him up periodically, asking him some questions, and check him over. This is done to make sure he doesn't have any serious damage, like a bleed on the brain. Sometimes these things have a delayed onset, and we can't risk him slipping into a coma without us being aware."

The terms 'coma' and 'bleed on the brain' brought Ariane's heart to her throat. She'd had her disagreements with the man - severe ones, perhaps - but she'd never wish this upon him. Not after all he did to try and save Ozan...

Suddenly, she was taken out of her thoughts by Gaw'kara's voice in her ear. Blinking twice, she focused back on the avianse and said, "Sorry, come again?"

"I said, I'm going to check his ribs over next," Gaw'kara repeated. He already had a little knife in hand to slice through the fabric of Jahaan's shirt. "Are you okay? Ariane, isn't it? Sorry, pleasantries were a little rushed earlier."

Exhaling a light laugh, Ariane rubbed around her eyes. "Sorry, I'm just tired. Yes, it's Ariane."

"Would you like to go and rest with your group? I can-"

"No," Ariane firmly cut in, softening her tone when she continued, "No… no I need to stay. I'm fine. Please, continue."

Deciding to leave the matter for now, Gaw'kara used the small blade to delicately cut through Jahaan's shirt, exposing the battered flesh underneath.

The sight made Ariane want to wretch. Jahaan's chest was a contorted mess of coloured blotches. Blues melted into greens with yellow epicentres; dark purples gave way to black imprints. If she looked closely enough - not that she wanted to - Ariane swore she could still see knuckle marks.

Wincing, Gaw'kara lightly placed a hand on Jahaan's chest. "Jahaan, this is going to hurt a bit. Can you tell me where the pain is worst?"

"Uh-huh," Jahaan groggily replied, only half registering what was being said as the avianse ran his hands across his chest. There was no immediate pain to speak of, nothing more than the pounding ache he'd almost grown accustomed to. But that was until Gaw'kara pressed down on his left side of his false ribs.

The cry that followed made Ariane feel sick.

Quickly removing his hand, Gaw'kara turned to Ariane and said. "There's undoubtedly multiple breaks here. Fortunately, he hasn't broken any of his true ribs - the upper ribs, such as the ones that protect his heart. Despite the serious damage, I've thankfully not detected anything indicating that he's injured his lungs. They should heal within six to eight weeks."

Gently, with the help of his assistant, Gaw'kara pulled Jahaan slightly more upright, having the assistant hold him there while he carried out an inspection of his back. There was bruising, but it wasn't anything like what he'd seen on the young man's chest. Running his taloned hand carefully across Jahaan's back, Gaw'kara stopped at his collarbone, noticing something amiss. From being thrown back into a wall, a shoulder or collarbone injury was the most likely, and from how it felt to the touch, Gaw'kara deduced that Jahaan's collarbone was almost certainly broken.

"He'll need a sling to assist in his collarbone's healing," Gaw'kara announced to Ariane. "It's broken. It won't take more than two months to fix itself, mind. That is - and I reiterate - he rests it. No sword-wielding in the interim."

Ariane just about managed a half smile. "I'll make sure he's sensible. Thank you."

The rest of Gaw'kara's inspection didn't take too long - he wanted to let Jahaan rest soon, but already scheduled with his assistant when the man should be re-awoken for evaluation. When Ariane pointed out the potential injury to his wrist, Gaw'kara told her it would be fine as long as it was splinted. The bone was broken, severely, but just like everything else, time is a great healer. They just had to rely on Jahaan not getting into any scuffles anytime soon.

Once they left the medical bay, Gaw'kara repeated the short form of the diagnosis to the other women. Noticing the burns on their hands, he ushered them into another medical bay to get treated, not wanting anyone disturbing the World Guardian and his other patients.

To Ariane, he said, "Once you've rested, I would like to hear how all this has come about, Ariane. As would Armadyl, I'm sure. No doubt he's been alerted to how he is now housing the World Guardian."

"Thank you, Gaw'kara," Ariane replied, feeling her eyes starting to close but desperately forcing them open. She planned to nap beside Jahaan's bed until he was next evaluated, knowing she'd have to give into the tiredness of her body at some point soon, or she'd just drop. "We all can't thank you enough for what you've done for us today."

Smiling warmly, Gaw'kara replied, "Community and compassion are pillars of our faith. Now, go and rest, young one. Jahaan will be fine."

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	42. Quest 10: Children of Mah (Ch1)

**Quest 10: Children of Mah**

**Chapter 1 - Long Way Home**

The Mahjarrat are dying, and they want answers as to why. To get them, they must journey back to Freneskae at the behest of Zaros, who promises them freedom from their Rituals once and for all. When Zamorak gets wind of his intentions, it leads to the two deities meeting for the first time since the great betrayal…

* * *

Jahaan had been informed of Ozan's fate. He took it as well as expected.

Over the next few days, Ariane, Mary Rancour and Idria visited Jahaan in his hospital bed, but neither party welcomed the visits. Conversation was tense and weighted, with hollow pleasantries and distracted glances. After all they had been through, conversing just didn't seem possible, let alone appropriate. Ozan's absence choked the air around them, invading their minds. How could they talk about anything else? How could they talk about him?

They couldn't. That's why, before long, Mary Rancour made excuses to go back to Burthorpe, and Idria said she had business to attend to in the Guardian of Armadyl military order. Ariane stayed for a while longer. Usually the two just sat in silent, solemn contemplation. Jahaan slept through a lot of the visits, even when he wasn't tired. He couldn't deal with anyone, let alone her.

Soon, she too made her excuses and left for the Wizards' Tower, saying she ought to go back and look after Coal.

Then, Jahaan was alone. It was a familiar state for him. He liked solitude, unless in the company of those he trusted. That list was growing thinner and thinner with each passing day. The only true friend he ever had was Ozan, though. Now he was gone too.

Jahaan felt angry. He felt rage, bitter, burning rage… but he was tired. Gods, he was tired. Soon, the rage became hollow. He felt empty, breathing just enough to keep living, the shallow air rattling around his insides.

That's why he slept so much. At least in his dreams, he didn't feel so empty.

Gaw'kara's treatment consisted predominantly of bedrest and pain remedies. Every time he caught Jahaan attempting to walk without aid, even if it was just to stretch his legs and take in the view from the nest, he barked at him to go back to bed. Such injuries required time and relaxation, he would always repeat. Gaw'kara didn't even allow Armadyl to see Jahaan until a good week into his recuperation.

By the time Armadyl was finally allowed to visit the World Guardian, Jahaan was growing very restless. He could walk, but not without the use of a cane, and he only had one good arm to hold that with. The pain ranged from mild and underlying, all the way up to agony if he twisted in the wrong way. Thus, pain relievers were always on hand. Still, Jahaan was looking forward to leaving the nest. He was grateful for all Gaw'kara and the Armadyleans had done for him, but he needed to leave. He needed to collect his armour from Wahisietel and rest up somewhere else, somewhere private. Not that he had much in the way of company, but still. He'd rather be recuperating on his own terms.

Jahaan was propped up in his bed when Armadyl greeted him with a warm smile. "Salutations, World Guardian. How are you feeling today?"

"Fine, thanks," Jahaan replied, his stock reply for the question he'd been asked dozens of times by now.

"I apologise for not visiting sooner - Gaw'kara forbade it, and I daren't cross that bird," Armadyl chuckled, a wry smile on his beaked face. "But he told me what happened, and of your condition. You're going to live, and make a full recovery, but only if you don't do anything reckless."

"Reckless is all I have," Jahaan attempted a smile; that, and the joke, were weak. "Thanks for letting me rest here, Armadyl. I really appreciate it."

"But of course. We don't turn our back on the injured, World Guardian. And in spite of the horrible circumstances, I'm glad we finally got a chance to properly meet. Sliske's ascendency didn't exactly allow for pleasantries."

"And the memory of the ascendency is anything but pleasant," Jahaan retorted, wincing as the inhalation he took made his ribs ache. But instead of more small talk, Jahaan wanted to cut to the heart of the matter. He feared Armadyl might be in the business of recruiting him - the World Guardian was a powerful ally to have, some might argue - but Jahaan was in no mood to be under any god's wing, no pun intended. Frankly, he'd had enough of the divine, and wanted nothing more than to leave the confines of the nest and lick his wounds in solitude. "Listen, while I appreciate your hospitality and all, I was hoping that-"

"You could leave?" Armadyl finished with a raised eyebrow. "Jahaan, you are not a prisoner here. You're free to leave whenever you like. However, Gaw'kara had recommended at least another week of bedrest and observation. Allow that, and I'll take you anywhere on Gielinor. And as an added incentive to stay, I'm hosting a banquet tomorrow to mark Taw-itsh Makaaw - it's a holiday we celebrate twice a year. Could you be persuaded to attend?"

At the word 'banquet' Jahaan's stomach started to rumble. Medic-bay food was hardly a feast fit for… well, anyone, let alone kings. It was nutritious, NOT delicious. He ate it out of sheer necessity to stay alive, and even then he wasn't sure if it was worth it, knowing he'd have to suffer another mouthful of it the next day.

So, Jahaan accepted Armadyl's invitation, and indeed stayed another week in the nest to appease Gaw'kara. Like Armdayl, Jahaan did not want to cross that bird. He was given an entire lecture upon the correct ways to treat his injuries, what to do and what not to do. The term 'post-concussion syndrome' had been bandied about, and Jahaan didn't actively want to experience it, so he did take the advice to heart.

Once the week was up, Jahaan requested a teleport to Nardah. He was gifted with a cane to assist his walking, something Jahaan deeply wished he didn't have to use, but begrudgingly did. It took him near five times as long to cross the room without it.

When he landed in the swelteringly familiar heat of the Nardah climate, Jahaan wished he also asked for a waterskin. Nevermind, the journey wasn't that long. Though with his walking stick, and with every step being an adventure into achiness, it certainly felt like a long time.

Finally, mercifully, he reached the home of Ali the Wise.

It was a sight for the glamoured Mahjarrat to see; the last time Wahisietel had seen Jahaan, he was a lot more sprightly. Now, he was huddled over a cane. His left arm was in a sling, with his wrist bandaged. His nose was crooked, and a gap in his smile showed a missing tooth. Purple and blue splotches covered his cheeks.

Ushering him inside, Wahisietel demanded, "What happened to you?"

From the stony look on his face, Wahisietel had already hazarded a guess.

"I picked a fight and lost," Jahaan replied, a half-truth at best, but he really didn't want to get into it. Instead, he limped over to the set of armour neatly tucked into one of the corners of the room. "Thanks for holding onto this for me. I'm sorry I didn't collect it sooner."

"I am not so easily placated, Jahaan," Wahisietel's tone was stern, yet measured. "Tell me what he did."

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, the back of Jahaan's head was gradually starting to hurt. Headaches were commonplace, a side effect of the concussion. But just because they were expected, didn't make them any less irritating.

Then, something troubling caught Jahaan's eye. "Wahisietel, your hand…"

The Mahjarrat's eyes followed Jahaan's gaze down to his left hand; his glamoured human flesh seemed to be receding, a pale skeletal hand threatening to make its appearance known.

Pulling his sleeve down over the hand, Wahisietel was concerned, but not surprised. "This particular side effect started happening days ago, though I've been feeling the effects for weeks. My power… it has been draining at an alarming rate."  
"But how?" Jahaan queried, his brow furrowing. "Lucien's sacrifice should sustain the Mahjarrat for another five hundred years, right?"

"So you would think," Wahisietel's voice was grave and laced with concern. "If I am not the only one to suffer degrading, then that would mean another Ritual is upon us soon. That could mean…"

Shaking his head, the furrowed brow of Ali's disguise relaxed somewhat; he gave a thin, sorrowful smile. "My apologies, I did not mean to burden you with this."

Relaxing down into his armchair, Wahisietel motioned for Jahaan to take a seat opposite him. "Now that's settled, it's your turn to explain the state you are in."

Slowly, Jahaan descended into the chair. It was a painful effort. "It's a long story."

"I have time. You can start by telling me why I was nearly crushed in my own home by a randomly materialising set of armour."

Accepting that the Mahjarrat wasn't going to budge on this, and rather enjoying taking the weight off his feet, Jahaan gave a heavily trimmed down version of events. No unnecessary information, and nothing about Ozan. He couldn't bear to bring up the man's name.

For the most part, Wahisietel sat there quietly, stewing. At least he spared Jahaan an 'I told you so', something the World Guardian was expecting more than his headaches. After Jahaan repeated the story, Wahisietel spent what felt like an eternity toying with his beard in silent contemplation. Jahaan was in no rush to break that silence.

Eventually, the Mahjarrat spoke. "Do you have somewhere to stay?"

Jahaan was caught slightly off-guard. Not the line of questioning he was anticipating. "I… I'm heading on to Menaphos. I'll find somewhere there."

Nodding gently, Wahisietel continued, "I'll help you carry your armour to the bank. I doubt you can wear it in your condition, yes?"

Jahaan blinked. "R-Right… thank you."

And that seemed to be his cue to leave. The two didn't say a word to one another on the way to the bank, and Wahisietel left Jahaan with a very conservative, very blunt 'farewell' as he made his way back home. Jahaan was left utterly baffled at the Mahjarrat's response, regaining just enough stability in his mind to take out a waterskin and some coins before heading over to the flying carpet operator, replaying the conversation in his head as he did so.

What he didn't realise was that, upon returning home, Wahisietel smashed his desk in half with his bare hands.

Jahaan didn't want to go back to Menaphos, but in his heart of hearts, he knew he had to.

He was going to go back to The Golden City, to walk through the imposing gates that towered into the clouds and beyond.

He was going to walk through the Merchant's District, marvelling at the opulence of the wares for sale as he did so. He'd gaze upon the beautiful silk robes of the residents, walk across the perfectly paved streets, trying not to feel like the outsider he had become.

He was going to look up at the Golden Palace in the Imperial District, where the rich and affluent lounged in excessive luxury, either oblivious to the corruption and poverty surrounding them, or unphased by it.

He was going to walk across the city's main plaza where the statues of the four lesser deities of the Pantheon stood proud.

If he could face it, he would return to the Port District. He might even see what became of his old house.

But for now, it seemed as if Jahaan would end up in the Worker's District, since that's what his budget would allow. He was going to return to the dregs of the city he had spent a fair portion of his youth in, when the alcohol guided him that way. Waking up to the sound of pickaxes against rock was something he'd get used to. That is, until his ribs healed enough for him to join the workers, earn a pitiful living and pay off the debt he'd accrue renting a place to stay. It was the only part of the city with an altar, for the Pharaoh hated religion, seeing it as a threat to his authority. He went so far as imprisoning religious leaders. The ramshackle altar at the shoreline was a beacon of hope for those trapped in the monotony of a pauper's life.

And just as the altar was a beacon of hope to the residents of the district, Menaphos was as close to salvation for Jahaan as he could get. This was because Jahaan's life in Menaphos was a life before Ozan. For twenty-five years Jahaan had remained in Menaphos, not meeting his best friend until he left the Golden City. Therefore, he'd made no memories with the man in Menaphos. For Jahaan, Menaphos was the last place where he felt normal. Once he left the comfort of the city walls, everything changed. But normality, stability and peace… Jahaan's injury and grief-addled mind concluded that Menaphos was the only place to find such things.

That's why he had to go back to Menaphos.

So, bracing himself and paying the fare, Jahaan began the magic carpet ride across the desert. When he left the Golden City, the magic carpet transport system hadn't been introduced. He had to walk from settlement to settlement, and some stretches of the overwhelming heat almost killed him. Directions to towns were hard to follow - maps didn't account for the endless stretches of blank, sandy nothingness. You couldn't catch your bearings in such a place. So, despite hating the nausea-inducing carpet ride, he thanked the gods for its existence.

The large golden gates slowly emerged into view over the horizon after what felt like half an eternity on the flying fabric. Once the carpet was parked, Jahaan rolled off and sunk into the sand below. He ended up having to sit down in the sand for a good fifteen minutes before the world stopped spinning enough for him to continue his journey. It also took him a solid five more minutes to stand up again, his pride making him refuse the assistance of the carpet operator at the Menaphos station. Jahaan could have sworn the man's pet monkey was snickering at him. Why were there so many monkeys in the desert anyhow? Jahaan had passed a whole colony on his journey. He thought them a mirage at first, but this one here disproved that theory.

Brushing those thoughts to one side, as well as brushing off the sand that coated the lower part of his body, Jahaan limped over to the imposing gates of Menaphos. They were taller than he remembered, somehow. They felt taller, at least. Possibly because, with his bruised face, bandaged ribs and cane, Jahaan felt incredibly small.

After signalling to the guards, the gates were eased open, and the spectacle of Menaphos unravelled in front of him.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	43. Quest 10: Children of Mah (Ch2)

**Quest 10: Children of Mah**

**Chapter 2 - Something is Wrong**

The Mahjarrat are dying, and they want answers as to why. To get them, they must journey back to Freneskae at the behest of Zaros, who promises them freedom from their Rituals once and for all. When Zamorak gets wind of his intentions, it leads to the two deities meeting for the first time since the great betrayal…

* * *

It seemed that Wahisietel was the first one to arrive. Staring across at the haunting, snow-covered Ritual Marker brought back less than pleasant memories for him. He wondered how an inanimate object could be so ominous, could strike so much fear right into his core, fear all of his kin shared but would never confess to.

He'd been left with no choice, and frankly, he was surprised his kin hadn't beaten him to it, hadn't arrived here and summoned the rest of their kind days ago. Perhaps everyone was just as reluctant to accept what was happening to them as Wahisietel was.

Edging closer to the Ritual Marker, Wahisietel exhaled deeply, tentatively making his way across the plateau. The Marker wouldn't bite, or strike out lightning - at least, that's what he thought - yet he couldn't help feel humbled by its terrifying aura. It was the Marker that meant death to the unfortunate members of his race, after all.

Wahisietel also knew that, as soon as he touched the Marker, his fellow Mahjarrat would _know_. In the few instances they have needed to gather outside of a Ritual, this was how they would alert one another. If they'd been reduced to the same skeletal fate Wahisietel had, no doubt a lot of them would arrive in search of a sacrifice. All would search for knowledge, at least, wanting to know why the last Ritual had not sustained them.

_Would Sliske join them?_ Wahisietel found himself wondering. He wanted answers from his half-brother, wanted to know why he was so determined to dig a shallow grave for himself. But if he came to the Ritual, and if indeed a sacrifice was chosen, Wahisietel knew that the unilateral decision would almost certainly be to sacrifice Sliske. He'd burnt every bridge he'd ever made; Wahisietel didn't even know if Azzanadra would side with him any longer. By Zaros, Wahisietel didn't even know if he could stand with his half-brother after everything he had done.

Sliske was a powerful Mahjarrat. Even without Azzanadra's protection of him, he was usually safe from the Marker. Thanks to the joint protection of Sliske and Azzanadra, Wahisietel too had been safe from the Marker for all these centuries. He was never as strong as his half-brother, never adept in shadow magicks to a near mastery level like Sliske was. But now, if Azzanadra turned against Sliske, and if indeed every other Mahjarrat ganged up against him, Sliske wouldn't stand a chance. Yes, he had the Stone of Jas and the Staff of Armadyl, but so did Lucien. Lucien even had support from the other Zamorakian Mahjarrat. What few Zarosians were left wouldn't side with Sliske, Wahisietel bitterly concluded. His half-brother would be overpowered, and he would be gone.

_If_ he came to the Ritual at all. Perhaps the Stone of Jas has slowed his withering? It didn't do so for Lucien, but that was after five hundred years of degrading. This was a peculiar scenario, one that perhaps Sliske would be immune from.

Wahisietel didn't know. He hated not knowing. He hated not knowing what Sliske's endgame was in all this, why he had to turn his back on Zaros, Azzanadra and himself. Why did he nearly slaughter the World Guardian he seemed so very fond of?

If Sliske came to the Ritual Site, Wahisietel would get answers. But then he'd also lose the only family he had left.

Exhaling a frosty breath, Wahisietel knew he was only delaying the inevitable. Placing his hand upon the Marker's surface, a chill ran through his body.

Now, he waited.

But not for long.

Khazard and Enakhra teleported in first, a wry grin slashed across the former's skeletal face as soon as he locked eyes with Wahisietel. "Ah, I see the sacrifice is already here. Nice of you to show up early, Wahisietel."

"This is going to be the most unanimous vote since we said goodbye to dear Lamistard," Enakhra remarked, sniffing a laugh that rattled the bones in her jaw. "Unless Sliske turns up soon, that is. You might last another few years if that's the case."

Almost immediately afterwards, Akthanakos joined the fray, standing beside Wahisietel as the divide between the Mahjarrat factions formed at either side of the Marker. "I see it did not take long for you to descend into petty insults."

"I would keep your voice down if I were you, Akthanakos," Hazeel was next to arrive. "You are so feeble you have completely reverted to your skeletal form already."

Gulping, Akthanakos looked down at himself in horror. "I… I have? Surely not so soon…"

"Something is affecting all of us," Azzanadra graced the circle with his presence. Of all of them, he had degraded the least, though the skin was thin and taught around his features. "We can't descend into quarrels before we uncover what that is."

"For once, I agree with you, Azzanadra," Bilrach arrived on the plateau, the Zarosian Mahjarrat taken aback by his presence.

Akthanakos voiced those feelings, "I thought you dead, Bilrach!"

A smile on Bilrach's face stretched the sparse layers of skin around his jaw, a haunting picture of decay. "Not so easily."

"I feel as if I haven't seen you in a milenia, Bilrach," Azzanadra's tone was not one of someone glad to be reacquainted with an old friend. "It is odd to see the lapdog without his master."

To his credit, Bilrach's tone had the same edge of subtle disdain, but he held back from snapping at the petty insult. "Last I saw you, we'd made a prison out of your pyramid, hmm. Hibernate, did we? I had hoped you'd expired in your tomb."

"You traitors took many years from me, but you did not take my life," Azzanadra replied through gritted teeth. "But what of you, Bilrach. I haven't seen you since Lamistard was sacrificed. Why didn't you attend the last Ritual?"

"I didn't need to attend," Bilrach's lips danced around a dark smile. "Tell me… you felt the power that rippled across the world's surface, yes?"

Eyes wide for a fraction of a second, Azzanadra inhaled sharply. "You… sacrificed someone. How? Whom?"

"It's not important," Wahisietel interjected. While he too was curious at Bilrach's tale, they had more pressing matters at hand. "What's important is that we find out what's happening to us, why Lucien's sacrifice didn't sustain us. Now, any suggestions?"

It was like throwing meat to starving wolves.

The bickering continued for far too long, featuring a squabble between Akthanakos and Khazard that nearly came to blows before Hazeel calmed them down.

Out of all the Zamorakians, Wahisietel found Hazeel the most tolerable. The former Mahserrat always had a head on his shoulders.

"Perhaps it was because the Mahjarrat Ritual was interfered with by outsiders?" Hazeel suggested. "The dragonkin struck the killing blow after all, not a Mahjarrat."

"That shouldn't make a difference - he was on the Marker," Akthanakos replied.

"But every sacrifice has always been at the hands of fellow Mahjarrat," Hazeel maintained. "Maybe the dragonkin absorbed the power, or it went back into the Stone, or-"

"Now you're just guessing. We have no time for silly theories."

"Stop! Please!" Wahisietel implored, feeling the coarseness of his skinless fingers fubbing into his temple, "Let us not try to hide the fact that this is no normal Ritual. Clearly something strange is happening to us."

"Why should we listen to anything you say?" Enakhra spat, heatedly. "We know it was you Zarosian scum who killed Zemouregal! Murdering your kin outside of a Ritual… how dare you?!"

"That's why Wahisietel should be the next sacrifice!" Khazard declared. "Vengeance for Zemouregal!"

"Enough, Khazard," Azzanadra stepped in, his voice measured. "Our power is draining at an alarming rate. We are not due another Ritual for hundreds of years. We need to understand what is happening to us."

"Hah! You fear for your own life as your numbers dwindle, Zar-"

This time, it was Hazeel's turn to interject. "Quiet, Khazard. The time for bravado has passed. How long would another Ritual sustain us? Months? Weeks? If our power continues to drain at this rate we will ALL be dead within the year."

Azzanadra nodded. "Agreed. It is imperative that we push for a solution."

"Perhaps it is time we outgrow these primitive Rituals," Wahisietel suggested, the hope and despair in his voice blending together seamlessly. "There must be another way!"

"Preposterous!" Enakhra spat. "There is no other way!"

Akthanakos pointed out, "Clearly Sliske thinks there is. He hasn't even bothered to turn up."

"Probably because he knows of the target on his back," Khazard sniffed a dark laugh. "Him being the sacrifice? Now THAT would be unanimous."

The responses that followed indicated that all agreed with Khazard, except for Wahisietel, who clenched his fist and bit his tongue. Sliske was smart enough to know what battles to pick. Perhaps the Stone was holding him together after all and he didn't need to attend? Perhaps he'd found another alternative, like Bilrach? Perhaps he was scared of being sacrificed, so had decided to take his chances at not getting rejuivated?

Looking up at Azzanadra, Wahisietel noted that the Mahjarrat was avoiding his glance, his eyes turned downwards.

Wahisietel despondently realised that his suspicions were confirmed, his heart weighing him down as he tore his gaze from Azzanadra.

Swallowing hard, Azzanadra eventually spoke, "If there is an alternative then I am not aware of it. We need to find out what is draining our power. A traditional Ritual is our last resort."

Suddenly, the air darkened slightly, a low rumble stirring around the Ritual Site.

It was then that Zaros appeared before them.

Instantly, the surprised Azzandra bowed low. Had it not been for the precarious company he was keeping, he would have dropped to his knees. "My lord. You honour us by gracing us with your presence."

Wahisietel and Akthanakos bowed too, having not seen Zaros since his return to Gielinor. They knew of Zaros' movements from Azzanadra, but had not yet been summoned to confer with Zaros. Such distance grated at the two Zarosian Mahjarrat, Wahisietel especially, who hated being kept out of the loop.

It didn't show in Wahisietel's voice though; raising his head, he said, "My lord, I am heartened to see you return. It has been too long."

The Zamorakian Mahjarrat, on the other hand, weren't much pleased with the reunion.

Gulping, Khazard took a tentative step back, slightly behind Hazeel. His eyes were locked on Zaros' form as he mumbled, "Please Zamorak… save us…"

"Be still," Zaros commanded, the gravitas of his voice knowing no bounds. "You need not fear me. I have come to earn back the trust you once placed in me."

Azzanadra, naturally, was the first to reply, "You have always had my trust, my lord, and the trust of the loyalists that stand beside me."

"Your loyalty has never been called into question, Azzanadra. But there are those here that conspired toward my downfall."

Instead of allowing himself to be scared, Hazeel took a bold step forward, challenging the deity. "Zamorak will know you are here. Do you wish to re-enact that downfall?"

If Zaros had conventional eyes, he would no doubt roll them at such an attempt. "Such vitriol, Hazeel. Zamorak does not concern me. I reiterate: I wish you no harm."

Khazard challenged, "Then why have you come here?"

Looking at each of the gathered Mahjarrat in turn, Zaros declared, "I know what is happening to you all. I know why you are gathered here."

Azzanadra was relieved by this, hopeful once more. "I pray you bring good news, my lord. We fear for the future of our race."

"Good news?" Enakhra laughed sharply and with incredulation. "He is probably the cause of our troubles!"

"Enakhra, I will tell you only once - do not insult me," Zaros warned, clear enough for the female Mahjarrat to step back. "Unfortunately, you are right to fear for your race. Your power is being drained so rapidly that you will all likely wither and die without a solution."

Akthanakos shook his head in despair. "This cannot be…"

"Zaros, if you truly have nothing to do with this, then why have you come here?" Hazeel demanded, though he didn't have the accusational tone of his Zamorakian brethren. "To witness our demise?"

"As I said, Hazeel, I wish to earn back your trust. Hope is not lost. I wish to make good on a promise I made to all of you long ago. Before the god wars... before the empire. If you accept, I offer you salvation. I offer you freedom from your Rituals."

"You did not keep that promise last time you made it," Enakhra pointed out, sneering. "Your empire was built on empty promises."

"Know your place, you ungrateful whelp," Azzanadra snapped, rounding on Enakhra.

"Mmm, yes, a good point has been made," Bilrach mused. "What makes you think we should believe you this time?"

Zaros simply replied, "I have not come here to beg. I once promised you something I did not know how to give. I return to you now with knowledge I did not possess before. I wish to bestow upon you a gift that will make amends for my past missteps. All you need to do is return to Freneskae, the origins of your species. I implore each and every one of you, accept my offering."

Lowering his head, Wahisietel said, "Of course, Zaros. We would follow you to the ends of the cosmos."

Naturally, Khazard audaciously cut in, "Pah! Speak for yourself, you-"

"Enough," Zaros' firm tone was rock-solid, hiding the exasperation that even the most powerful of deities could feel. "You have heard what I came here to say. I will await you at the Ritual of Rejuvenation site on Freneskae. Go through the World Gate and meet me there, or conduct your Rituals until the last of you breathes your final sigh of regret."

With those chilling words, Zaros teleported away.

After the air had stilled, Azzanadra announced, "Well, my opinion should be clear. We must go to Freneskae."

Enakhra rolled her eyes. "Surprise, surprise. Zaros clicks his fingers and Azzanadra comes running."

"Stop sulking, Enakhra. I see no other option but to hear Zaros out." Hazeel contributed, rubbing his hairless chin in frustrated contemplation.

Clicking her tongue, Enakhra crossed her arms over her chest. "Before we make any decisions, I would like us to recall the last time Zaros made us the very same promise. We did the dirty work building his empire on the false pretence that he would save us from extinction. He turned his back on us time and time again, until we entered his throne room beside Zamorak and made that arrogance his downfall."

"And Zaros still had the good grace not to strike you down the moment he saw you!" Azzanadra spat back. "You heard what Zaros said. He wishes to save us."

"He does not! It is just as before… an empty promise with no intention of delivering upon it."

"Enough!" Wahisietel interrupted, a headache forming thanks to the bickering from both parties. "The way I see it, we have no choice but to hear Zaros out. Regardless of your allegiance to our lord, he seems to have an understanding as to why our power is draining as it is. I am going to the World Gate and crossing through to Freneskae. I hope to see you all there, lest I never see you again."

There was a thick, contemplative silence that followed Wahisitel's departure. Hazeel was the first to break it. "Perhaps Wahisietel is right. Our impending doom is not something we can ignore."

"So we should just play right into Zaros' hands?" Khazard continued to protest, but his resolve had lessened. Perhaps the weightlessness of his receding flesh had finally gotten to him.

Even Enakhra was starting to come around, begrudgingly. "Unfortunately, it would seem we have no other choice. Zamorak will watch over us on our journey, of that I am sure."

"At least some of you are able to see reason," Azzanadra remarked with a sniff of a chuckle. "There may yet be hope for us."

"Hope for these Zamorakians? Unlikely," Akthanakos maintained with a haughty raise of his chin. "The only reason I will set foot on Freneskae is because I cannot perform a Ritual on my own."

Hazeel replied, "We may yet get a sacrifice, Akthanakos. But unless we go to Freneskae, I fear our fate is sealed."

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	44. Quest 10: Children of Mah (Ch3)

**Quest 10: Children of Mah**

**Chapter 3 - Shattered Worlds**

The Mahjarrat are dying, and they want answers as to why. To get them, they must journey back to Freneskae at the behest of Zaros, who promises them freedom from their Rituals once and for all. When Zamorak gets wind of his intentions, it leads to the two deities meeting for the first time since the great betrayal…

* * *

Freneskae. The whole world would roll away before you, made all the more beautiful by its utter hostility. Caves big enough to fit a cathedral, rivers of glowing orange snaking along the floor like the arteries of some giant protean god… it was a crudely carved nightmare of a realm.

Wahisietel had very few fond memories of this world. He wasn't a strong voice back on Freneskae, not like Azzanadra or Zamorak, but he was fiercely in favour of leaving for Gielinor when the opportunity arose. Anything to leave the unforgiving and aggressive climate. There was no sanctuary - muspah raids were a constant threat, much like the storms and lava flows that often decimated their camps. Tribal politics could sometimes lead to more devastating results than the muspah; Wahisietel was never high on the totem pole, therefore he knew to keep his voice down and his head low, lest he be thrown to the Marker over some petty grievance.

Twice he was put forward for sacrifice. Both before Sliske was born, once by his own mother who wanted to rid herself of her underdeveloped offspring. Wahisietel had been far slower in learning magic as a child and was mute for many years. He had to resort to bludgeoning his rival half to death with a sharp rock before the dying Mahjarrat was dragged away to the Marker to be sacrificed.

At least when Sliske was born, he had someone to look out for, and someone to look out for him. Their shared mother never liked Sliske either, so the half-brothers had common ground.

Sliske learned magic fast, and became an adept shadow-walker at a very early age. He dealt with his first Ritual opponent with prowess and ease.

Wahisietel was envious, but he refused to let it get to him. After all, once Sliske was around, Wahisietel was never offered for sacrifice anymore. Sliske's strength and usefulness to the tribe helped him rise up the ranks quickly, and his connection to Azzanadra certainly garnered him significant protection. It wasn't until Gielinor that Wahisietel and Azzanadra were even on a first-name basis.

If it wasn't for Sliske, Wahisietel doubted he would have even made it to Gielinor.

Wahisietel knew exactly where the World Gate had sent them - The Falls of Mah. It was acknowledged as the most dangerous part of the journey to the Ritual of Rejuvenation Site, the last obstacle at the end of their pilgrimage. Once at the Ritual Site, they could banish the muspah hoards, just like Mah had taught his elders. Wahisietel hadn't been there when Mah appeared before the Mahjarrat to teach them their Rituals. Out of the hundreds that had been present, only two were still alive - Zamorak and Bilrach.

The blazing river was the most hazardous of all the challenges to overcome. It was a time of heightened seismic activity, so the rivers of lava bubbled and burped forth huge pillars of flame. Wahisietel had seen too many of his kin succumb to its fiery depths, and he was not looking forward to traversing it again.

Still, it was necessary, since teleportation was out of the question. Teleportation was never a viable option on Freneskae. Due to the seismic activity of the world and the constantly shifting ground, you could never be certain where you were going to land. What you once remembered as solid ground could have long since been turned into molten lava, dropping you straight into your smouldering demise. Even now, with their better understanding of teleportation magic, the Mahjarrat knew they would be soaring into the unknown if they tried to teleport themselves to the Ritual Site.

The rest of his kin had emerged through the World Gate by now, taking in the landscape of the life they had left behind. Except Khazard. Since he was born on Gielinor during the God Wars, he had never seen Freneskae before, and looked more than a little terrified.

Bilrach set his jaw, his tongue exploring the empty cavern of his hollow mouth. "Curious. The pull on our energy here seems even stronger than before."

Akthanakos, taking in his companion, pointedly remarked, "Looks like I am not the only one to revert. Even you have assumed your skeletal form, Bilrach."

"Assumed, yes. Reverted, no," Bilrach corrected. "I have decreased my energy signature to be as low as possible, thus extending the little time I have left, hmm."

If skeletons could blush, Akthanakos would have turned cherry. "Oh, well yes, of course. Following my example, obviously."

Azzanadra was silent as he took in Freneskae. He may have described the world as beautiful, but even he wasn't thrilled at the prospect of returning to their birthplace.

"Come," he ordered, gazing out at the falls before them. "The Ritual Site is not far from here, but we must tread carefully."

"Can't we just teleport there?" Khazard asked, naively.

"Not unless you want to boil," Akthanakos rolled his eyes, then thought better of it. "No, wait, that's a brilliant idea, Khazard. You lead the way."

Khazard opened his mouth to reply, but Hazeel cut in, "Stay close, Khazard. Tread exactly where I tread."

When Mah appeared to the Mahjarrat at The Beginning, she taught them many things. The two that stuck with them the most were the two Rituals - the Ritual of Rejuvenation and the Ritual of Enervation.

Mah told the various Dreams of Mah tribes - of which the Mahjarrat were a part of - that when the terrible muspah hoards rose from the ground and swarmed them, they had to journey to the Marker and sacrifice one of their own in the Ritual of Rejuvenation to vanish the foul beasts. She also told them that when ground trembled fearsomely, they were to divide into pairs and join their energies together to soothe the tremors in the earth. In doing so, they would also bring new life into the world. After each Ritual, the Mahjarrat enjoyed a serene peace that could last for years. Well, as much peace as Freneskae would allow. The ground would settle, and the muspah would cease to exist, but lightning strikes, rockfalls, volcanic eruptions, attacks from other tribes… the Mahjarrat were never out of danger. But the absence of two major threats thanks to the Rituals was a godsend, literally. Hence, they diligently performed the Rituals whenever necessary, and sometimes even when they weren't, using them as a political power tool.

The Rituals were pillars of Mahjarrat culture, but they were a burden drawing them to the brink of extinction. But today, if Zaros was to be believed, they would undertake their final one.

It was a promise Zaros made centuries ago. When Icthlarin took Sliske's wights from him, he made an enemy that day. An enemy that soon led the Mahjarrat into Zaros' service.

Wahisietel remembered that day like it was yesterday, when the majority of his tribe first came to Zaros. It took a lot of assurances from Sliske that the deity's proposal was above board, and Zamorak had helped bring the entire tribe around. Wahisietel wanted it to be real. He wanted a leader worth following. Icthlarin was not that leader.

Zaros was... he was everything and more. He was salvation incarnate. He and his men didn't look at the Mahjarrat with fear or disgust. Zaros promised them power and authority, and a respectable place in the society he was building. But the most interesting thing was the way he observed the Ritual that took place.

A fierce debate broke out amongst the Mahjarrat in regards to whether or not a Ritual of Rejuvenation - which had ceased during the war - should be performed in order to continue their tradition, although many thought it would be meaningless without the Marker or a volcano. After Azzanadra explained to Zaros what the Ritual of Rejuvenation was, he offered to create a replacement Ritual marker, and expressed a desire to watch the Ritual occur. With a marker, the Mahjarrat agreed to partake in the Ritual. After it was finished, Zaros explained that in the absence of Mah - whose existence he did not question - the energy intended to appease her was instead distributed amongst the present Mahjarrat. He claimed that on Gielinor, unless the Ritual of Rejuvenation was regularly performed, they would all gradually whither and die. But he also told the Mahjarrat that they needed to use them more sparingly. Every five hundred years, it was agreed upon.

Then he said that, in time, he could free the Mahjarrat from their Rituals entirely.

That was what won Wahisietel over.

It had taken centuries, but the end was in sight. If Zaros came through, the Mahjarrat would finally be free.

The elders always advised to not wander from the lava path, advice the handful of Mahjarrat dutifully followed on their way to the Ritual site. Already they could see the Marker piercing the murky clouds above. The only sparks of brightness on the desolate world were the Ritual Markers. The Marker was a beacon of pure elder energy that shot up into the skies, illuminating the lifeless landscape around it. Nearer towards the ground, rocks and debris orbited its core, trapped in its gravitational pull.

But as they carefully made their way along the precarious route to the Ritual Site, they saw something else invading the skies above them, something else that scratched and clawed its way into the heavens, looming over the Marker.

Wahisietel gasped, gazing up in awe at the looming figure of a sleeping Mah, towering over the present Mahjarrat like an anguished shadow. "It's… it's Mother Mah!"

Never in his life had he gazed upon the twisted and tormented face of his creator. Only those that were there at The Beginning had that honour. But she looked so… so different to what the legends described. And yet, he could _feel_ their kinship, feel the gravitas of her presence calling out to him. The haunting figure embedded in the rocks above them was unmistakably Mah.

At the Ritual Site, another figure was bathed in Mah's shadow - Zaros.

"Thank you for joining me here," Zaros called out to them, his booming voice cutting through the groans and rumbles of Freneskae's ambience. "I understand you all are skeptical, but it is time I put your worries to rest. I know what is draining you of your power. To solve this crisis, we must conduct one final Ritual."

Enakhra's teeth snapped together. "You brought us here for another Ritual? You said there would be no more sacrifices!"

"And I spoke the truth," Zaros calmly replied.

Bilrach was not convinced, letting it be known by the low grumble of a "Hmm…"

"Then... you mean a Ritual of Enervation?" Hazeel hesitantly met the gaze of Enakhra, who opened her mouth to object, before Zaros cut her off.

"No. I will aid you in a Ritual of Rejuvenation, but we will draw energy directly from Mah."

Akthanakos gulped. "F-From Mah? Our creator?"

"I have more information that you would benefit from hearing," Zaros continued. "Mah is the drain on your power that you have all been feeling. It will not stop while she exists. She cares for you. It is my assessment that she dragged herself here to give you the last of her energy."

Wahisietel clarified, "So your plan is to transfer Mah's power directly to us?"

"Yes, Wahisietel. You would gain more power than you have ever experienced, and with Mah gone there would no longer be a need for your Rituals. You would have her power - enough energy and strength to sustain yourselves indefinitely."

Enakhra exhaled a deep breath, her narrow eyes closing in contemplative acceptance. "Alright. I may not trust you, but I cannot fault the logic of your plan, Zaros."

Akthanakos rolled his eyes derisively. "Of course your tune completely changes at the first sniff of power."

"There will be no more bickering," Zaros declared, resolutely. "We must take advantage of Mah's peaceful slumber to begin the Ritual. I need all of your full concentration now. It is time. Focus your energy-"

"ZAROS!" The voice stormed across the horizon, reverberating around the Ritual site before its owner had even fully manifested into view.

Zamorak had arrived.

Turning his attention to the newly arrived god, Zaros said, "Zamorak. Right on time, and just as before."

"That's as close as you'll get to a joke, so I'll take it," Zamorak strode into the centre of the gathered Mahjarrat, staring down the Empty Lord with prideful venom. "You've taken advantage of the Mahjarrat long enough. Not this time, you hollow prick."

"Your insolence knows no bounds. Even when I offer salvation, you challenge me. Foolish child."

"Don't underestimate me," Zamorak warned. "I beat you once, don't think I can't do it again."

Whether Zaros could smile was something of a mystery, but Zamorak could _feel_ the cruel upturn in the diety's lips. "And yet the fear in your voice betrays your words. There is doubt in your eyes, not fire. You lack the confidence and naivety you wielded the first time you challenged me."

Perhaps there was doubt in his eyes, fear in his voice, but Zamorak made a show of hiding it. "I'm more powerful than I was back then, and don't think you can manipulate me with your twisted words. I'm immune to your controlling aura."

Zaros raised his chin. "Hmm, so you know about my curse."

"Ha! Curse... bullshit," Zamorak snarled. "It's how you accomplished everything. I figured it out thousands of years ago."

Khazard piped up, "What do you mean, 'controlling aura'?"

"Anyone who gets too close to Zaros will gradually be compelled to follow him. It's false devotion. Clearly it affects some more than others," Zamorak explained, shooting a derisive glare at Azzanadra as he implied, "I believe the effect is stronger the weaker the individual is. But what do you say, Zaros?"

"Yes, I am flawed," Zaros admitted, coldly. "Doomed never to know whether the loyalty I inspire is genuine unless I withdraw myself as I have done. It is no gift."

Enakhra snorted a laugh. "Then Azzy and his sidekicks are just lovesick weaklings!"

"Wrong," Zaros assured before Azzanadra could get his licks in. "Their loyalty has always been unwavering, despite my complete absence from this world."

"Enough bullshit," Zamorak snapped. "I know what you are doing, Zaros. Pulling the strings with your empty words and promises."

Zaros' voice was still calm and measured. "I know how to free them, Zamorak. I know how to free you."

"Me? You think I need your help?"

"Your power is draining too, as is mine. We are all of the same composition, a family of sorts. I am in the same peril that all of you are."

"For fuck's sake, your plan is even more transparent than before," Zamorak shook his head with indignation. "You've lured them here to drain them of their power. Are you truly so desperate to save yourself that you would sacrifice them all?"

"No, Zamorak. You are wrong. Always so blinded by hatred," Zaros was growing exasperated now, and increasingly frustrated. Thinking an example might help his cause, for actions speak louder than words, Zaros said, "Here, let me show you how I can use the Ritual Marker to channel Mah's energy into Khazard-"

"DON'T TOUCH MY SON!" Zamorak roared, launching a bolt of dark energy towards Zaros. Instantly, the other deity caught it with a spell of his own, holding back Zamorak's attack with ease. Zamorak was really having to force himself forwards just to hold Zaros' attack at bay. The surrounding Mahjarrat daren't get involved. Even the Zamorakians, who saw their god struggling, knew better than to interfere. Seeing two of Gielinor's most powerful deities battling it out under the slumbering figure of Mah was terrifying.

Zaros twisted his hand and another smouldering jet of magic blasted towards Zamorak. It struck the Mahjarrat god's wings, catching them alight and incinerating them within seconds.

"You will pay for your insolence with your life!" Zaros bellowed, watching with cruel satisfaction as Zamorak howled in agony, sinking to his knees as the spell started to overwhelm him. "Even now, it is a shame to end your life. You could have been so much more."

With one hand on the ground, Zamorak resiliently continued to hold back Zaros' attack, using all his strength and power to form a crackling energy shield around himself. Nevertheless, Zaros' onslaught continued.

"I never asked for this burden," Zamorak growled, panting through the exhaustion. "Everything I did, I did for the Mahjarrat. If I am to die… then the power YOU gave me will become theirs!"

Suddenly, Zamorak broke the shield, allowing Zaros' full might to strike him. As he did so, he channelled a spell that connected himself to the Ritual Marker, attaching his entire life force, his entire being, to the Marker. When the connection was made, every Mahjarrat became enveloped in a green aura.

Wahisietel could feel his power being restored, he could feel himself being rejuvenated as Zamorak made himself the sacrifice.

It took Zaros a moment to realise what Zamorak was doing, his eyes wide with confusion and indignation. "What? No!"

Instantly, he broke the spell. Zamorak tumbled to the ground, weak and weary. Enakhra and Hazeel dared not move an inch, in horrified awe at the display of power they had just witnessed… but Khazard was not deterred. He rushed to Zamorak's side, turning him over to see glazed eyes meet his own. The god was coughing and panting, gasping for tight lungfuls of air that struggled to come.

"K-Khazard…" he managed to whisper.

Khazard was still in shock. He thought his father had perished alongside his mother, in the battle of Uzer during the God Wars. Of all people he could claim kinship with...

"L-Lord Zamorak… my father?" he was mumbling, more to himself than Zamorak. Fortunately, Zamorak's crystal had not been damaged in the battle. Whether any internal damage had been done was another matter, but considering Zamorak was at least trying to stand was a good sign. Khazard helped him to his feet. Zamorak was huddled over, clutching at his stomach, using most of his remaining strength to glower at Zaros. "Why didn't- _ah!_... you finish me off?"

Zaros' cold, measured voice returned, but with an underlying hiss of resentment. "Your self-sacrifice instills devotion in your kin... Somehow, in opposition to everything I try to build - everything I try to give - you stand against me. And it inspires others to do the same. I will not make you a martyr."

Zamorak waved Khazard away, back towards Hazeel, in case Zaros decided to go for round two. "Then what will you do?"

"You have always had such potential, Zamorak. Even now, you are the embodiment of everything I preach. Such desire to overcome your limitations. I cannot let you go to waste. I am afraid we are far past the point of trust though. There must be precautions this time."

Zamorak didn't like where this was heading. "I'm not going to be your pawn. Not again."

"It is a shame you cannot see the value of joining me. The things we could accomplish together…" Zaros sighed. "I see only one way we can mutually benefit from this predicament. I suggest we invoke Vinculum Juris, an ancient demonic pact that I am sure you are familiar with."

Zamorak spat out a sharp laugh, but the pain in his chest was sharper. "You really are batshit crazy if you think I'll let my fate be tied to yours."

"You have no choice. If you wish to leave this place, I need to know you will not interfere with me again," Zaros had a way of threatening without actually threatening, since the monotonous tone of his voice rarely changed.

Zamorak, however, knew the deity well enough to know what he was implying. "Argh, spit it out then. What terms would you have bind us?"

"Sliske has the Catalyst," Zaros began, "He claims he will give it to the victor of his games once the eclipse is upon us. I know you are planning to obtain it. You will continue to do so, but within his final game you will perform one action at my request. You will know which request I intend for you to act upon, because I will refer to you as my Legatus Maximus when I address you. In return, I vow to deliver upon my promise. We will conduct one final Ritual. When it is complete, every one of you will have increased in power and the drain on your energy will be gone."

Enakhra finally found the courage to call out, "The pact will bind him to his word, Lord Zamorak. He will have to free us!"

"I cannot give him what he wants, Enakhra," Zamorak affirmed. "There is no telling what he would do with the Stone!"

Hazeel spoke up in a much softer tone, "Zamorak, brother, swallow your pride. We have no other option…"

Zamorak's resolve was slightly weakened. He gulped. "Hazeel…"

Suddenly, the shadow of Mah began to creak into life, knocking a few stray rocks from their perch.

"Hmm, Mah stirs…" Bilrach commented, so matter-of-factly that one would think he wasn't afraid of the vengeful elder god above them. "The clock is ticking faster. I see no other path to salvation, my lord."

Exhaling heavily, Zamorak turned back to Zaros with narrowed eyes. "You know what happens if you break this vow, Zaros. Vinculum Juris is not forgiving."

"Yes… I will be undone," Zaros confirmed, bluntly. Vinculum Juris was one of the oldest pacts in the universe, instigated by demons that somehow managed to weave the fabric of fate to do their bidding. It was a simple contract, but deadly to break. You made a promise, you swore by Vinculum Juris, and if you did not hold up your end, the universe would unwrite you from existence. Nobody, not even Zaros, truly knew how or why they worked… but they did. One such contract was how Zaros scored his first army, twelve demonic legions, giving him the power and might to start challenging for territory on Gielinor.

He'd also seen what happened to those who broke their end of the contract, as had Zamorak. With that first hand knowledge, neither would dare go back on their word.

"Then it is no longer a matter of trust," Zamorak raised his chin. "Keep your word, or cease to exist."

"We are clear on the consequences. Do you accept my wording?"

"With one last Ritual you will end the need for any more, preventing any further energy drain, which will in turn empower us all. If you deliver on this promise, I must perform one action for you in Sliske's game."

"And the request I intend for you to act upon will be denoted by...?" Zaros checked.

"You will address me as your Legatus Maximus," Zamorak confirmed.

"Then it is settled," Zaros declared. "All those who stand before bare witness. Let us begin."

Simultaneously, the two deities began reciting the brief contract in Infernal. As they did, bright white energy began spilling out of their mouths, their eyes glowing possessively. "_Animus contrahendi. Vinculum Juris!"_

Both then fired a harmless spell at the other. When the spells met, the contract was sealed.

"It is done," Zaros announced, solemnly. "We are bound."

"Your turn, Zaros," Zamorak wasted no time. "Hold up your end of the deal. Now."

Zaros agreed, "Yes, it is about time. Mah will not sleep soundly for much longer."

"What must we do, my lord?" Azzanadra eagerly asked, his heart in his throat.

"The Marker is acting as a conduit for Mah to siphon energy through. I will reverse this process," Zaros explained. "This will allow you all to channel power through the Marker, as you would in a Ritual of Rejuvenation. The difference being that this time the Ritual will draw on Mah's power directly, infusing it into each of you. Permanently."

Khazard was nervous, his eyes flitting between Zamorak, Zaros, and the slumbering Mah. To Zamorak, he asked, "Lord Zam-... F-Father… can we really trust this to work?"

"He is bound to his word by Vinculum Juris, Khazard," Zamorak assured. "Either he keeps his promise, or he will be killed. It's a win-win."

"Then let us begin," Zaros stepped forward, raising his hands aloft as he tried to tether himself not only to the Marker, but to Mah and the Mahjarrat simultaneously. Zaros was the conduit for this entire ritual; Mah's energy would be pulled through the Marker by him, and then into the surrounding Mahjarrat. It wasn't the standard way the Ritual was performed - it couldn't be, not for what they were trying to achieve - but Zaros was confident that it would work, providing there were no interruptions.

But as the tenuous connection was made, Mah stirred again, and the skies above them darkened. With a death-rattle and a piercing shriek that could shatter the heavens, the Mahjarrat began to shiver. Not since they left Freneskae had they encountered such foul beasts as the ones that began to slither towards them now.

The muspah had spawned.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	45. Quest 10: Children of Mah (Ch4)

**Quest 10: Children of Mah**

**Chapter 4 - Dying Light**

The Mahjarrat are dying, and they want answers as to why. To get them, they must journey back to Freneskae at the behest of Zaros, who promises them freedom from their Rituals once and for all. When Zamorak gets wind of his intentions, it leads to the two deities meeting for the first time since the great betrayal…

* * *

According to legends, muspah were created when Mah had some of her most vile nightmares.

There were two ways to banish them - either pray to Mah that only a few had manifested and try to fight them off, or perform the Ritual of Rejuvenation.

They were thick, clawing creatures in putrid shades of purple, yellow and crimson. Spikes protruded from the rocky shell that covered their back, twisted and contorted in different angles that left no opening, no weakness. Their dagger-like teeth were skewed and positioned haphazardly throughout their cavernous mouths, instant death for anyone unfortunate enough to get a good look. Their forked tongue resembled a crude blade, hurriedly smithed in a sickly green ore, dripping with gurgling venom. Eyes, by the gods their eyes… they glowed so brightly that in the darkest depths of Freneskae, through the thickest fog and the heaviest storms, you could see the end approaching.

"Everyone huddle together!" Wahisietel commanded, backing into the centre of the Ritual circle. "If they attack, we-"

But it was too late. Suddenly, the muspah were among them. They had jumped, sprinted, maybe even _teleported_ among the Mahjarrat, who scrambled away from their predators, firing wildly at the foul monsters.

Zaros was shaking. The effort it took to uphold the spell was hard enough without the threat of muspah swarming them. As it stood, he had no way of defending himself. "I cannot lose this connection to the Marker and to Mah. Azzanadra, shield me. If this link is disrupted, there may be no way of reestablishing it."

"Yes my lord!" Azzanadra hurried to his god's side, darting his eyes in all directions to retaliate against anything that dared threaten his lord.

Unlike his Mahjarrat brethren, Khazard had never encountered a muspah before. So when he saw the clawed abomination dash over the horizon, looking barge straight into him, he was too stunned to dodge out of the way. Grunting as he was bowled to the floor, Khazard could barely see through the dust and tears in his eyes, so the muspah was nothing but a nightmarish silhouette above him, claws raised and poised to strike.

But then it struck; a light, brilliant and shining, like a concentrated crystalline burst of energy, right into the back of the muspah. The creature shrieked and howled in agony before crumbling to the ground, right next to Khazard. Panting, Khazard scrambled to his feet, wide eyes locking onto the being that saved him.

Seren stared straight back, her many eyes fixated upon the Mahjarrat. Then, she flew down from the cliff edge and next to Zaros, disdainfully regarding her brother as she demanded, "What are you doing here, Zaros?"

Zaros turned his head slightly towards Seren, the energy pulsing around him still locking him to the Marker. "I have been pulled here, same as you, sister."

"I came because I felt Mah's distress," Seren contended, a bitter edge to her voice. "I assume you are here for your own selfish ends?"

"Not so, sister. You have felt the draw. Mah is draining us of our lifeforce. If something is not done, we will all wither," he motioned with his head to the Mahjarrat. "And they will go first."

"A Ritual, then?"

Shaking his head, Zaros replied, "It is not enough to sustain them. Not this time."

When Seren turned back to the Mahjarrat, she saw another muspah gaining on Bilrach, zooming in from the rear while Bilrach was distracted with another opponent. Seren shot a blast of her energy at the muspah, connecting to the rocky protective shell of its back. She expected it to topple over instantaneously; the strike should have been fatal, but instead, it merely seemed to aggravate the creature further. Fortunately, Bilrach was aware of his predator now and managed to gain some distance. Shocked, Seren forced another blast of energy at the muspah, launching what she thought was an excessively overpowered strike at it.

Finally, the creature crumbled.

Looking down at her hands, Seren couldn't understand. She could exterminate hoards of muspah with ease if needed - why were these causing so much trouble? Deep down in her core, she had an inkling, and she sensed that Zaros knew too.

Wahisietel was just as terrified as he was baffled. The musaph had never moved like that before, and they had never penetrated the Ritual Site. Something was wrong...

"We have to perform the Ritual," Akthanakos wearily shot down another muspah, his life essence being sucked out of him with every attempt to defend himself. "It is the only way to banish these apparitions!"

"But we can't perform the Ritual with these things clawing at us!" Enakhra shouted back, panting heavily as she fought off another attack.

Hazeel was shaking his head, his eyes glazing over with the exertion. "I don't understand. Why are these muspah so different?"

"As Mah grows weaker, she grows more desperate," Zaros explained, acutely aware of how vulnerable he was, even with Azzanadra's protection. He turned to Seren. "These nightmares will only continue to grow stronger with each passing minute. Sister, we must do something to rid the Ritual Site of Mah's nightmares before they overwhelm us."

"What would you have me do, Zaros?" Seren snapped, feeling the anguish of the gathered Mahjarrat infect her very core. "I cannot fight her manifestations by myself while you perform the Ritual!"

"And you will not be able to. As long as Mah draws breath, we will succumb. If not to her manifestations, then to her drain on our lifeforce."

Zaros' insinuations slithered their way into Seren's mind. Her eyes widened. "No!"

"Do you think this is what Mah wants?" Zaros' sharp tone had a pleading edge to it. "If she was conscious of the consequences of her actions, do you think she would accede to them?"

Seren was incredulous. Her seething tone quivered, "I will not let you kill our own mother!"

"Then you must do it," Zaros solemnly but firmly declared, emphasising, "They will _all perish_, sister..."

Seren's hollow eyes held Zaros' for a long while before wandering numbly over to the gathered Mahjarrat. They were fighting for their lives, for the survival of their race, just like they were the first time she came to them on Freneskae.

Gulping, Seren let the guilt wash over her once more. If her greatest mistake was the curse of tethering she inflicted upon the elves, then her relationship with the Mahjarrat was a close second.

Lowering her head, Seren said nothing as she flew up to Mah's side.

The elder god was grumbling, groaning, her stone-assembled features creaking with every bitter movement. The nightmare pulsed though her, tearing through her psyche like daggers through flesh. So many times Seren had seen Mah in this treacherous state. Once Zaros departed Freneskae, Mah was devastated. She was barely lucid, and even when she was, she was unable to separate dreams from reality. Her screams would echo across the mountains, causing violent earthquakes as her pain intensified.

Creations spawned from her dreams - the Children of Mah, their race was known as, and tribes formed among them. The Mahjarrat were the only remaining tribe. Seren theorised Mah was trying to create another Zaros, to fill the void his absence had created. Instead, she created a race of lost, scared and weak creations, left to build a society out of the ashes of their harsh world. Seren came to them, and she taught them all she could to survive on Freneskae... but at a cost.

When Mah's screams shook the world, Seren encouraged the Mahjarrat to perform a Ritual of Enervation - it would drain Mah of some of her power, settling her fury and allowing the Mahjarrat to breed. When Mah's nightmares caused the creation of muspah, Seren encouraged the Mahjarrat to journey to the Ritual Marker and sacrifice one of their own to banish the creatures, returning to Mah some of that lost power.

Mah loved her creations. Seren knew that, as she saw countless parents love their children upon leaving Freneskae. But her love was overwhelming. Zaros felt smothered by Mah and left Freneskae, leaving Seren alone to care for her. Those were dark days, her moods travelling between deep depression and intense fury. Seren alone had to handle her. But nothing lasts forever, even for an elder god.

"I was powerless... nothing I did or could do would ever be enough…" Seren found herself whimpering, heavy eyes resting upon the deity.

Eventually, Seren had left Freneskae too, hoping to find something in the cosmos that could help Mah's suffering. She had found so many wondrous things in her travels, including the heart of the universe itself - Gielinor, a perfect world.

But nothing to save her mother.

"I never wanted to abandon you, Mah."

The sounds of battle below the clifftop echoed and reverberated around the world, alongside the low rumblings of an impending earthquake. Mah's face contorted again, a pained shriek settling into a hollow scowl, lava dripping from her cracked features.

Tentatively, Seren approached Mah, holding out a hand to rest against her cheek. "I am so sorry, mother. I think I always knew in my heart that it would come to this. If I had only known sooner... I could have saved you so much pain. You deserved better. You gave us all your love, in your own way. So great and complex, forever doomed to be misunderstood. You will suffer no more, and your children will thrive. Forgive me…"

Seren's hand started to glow a fearsome shade of icy white, tendrils of energy sprouting out and wrapping around Mah like vines.

It was over quick, hauntingly so. A creature as old as the universe, gone in a heartbeat.

Seren watched Mah's head lull lifelessly to the side, excess lava dripping out of her mouth until it was nothing but a trickle.

"Curse you, Zaros…" Seren clenched her fists, her entire body shaking and quivering. Seren knew there was a web her brother had weaved, and it had led to this very moment. She couldn't quite explain how, or why, but she _knew_. She knew her brother like a mirror image of herself, and she would _never_ forgive him for this.

Due to their weakened state, the Mahjarrat were struggling with the onslaught of muspah. Overly powered muspah at that, ones that subverted a lot of what was known of the creatures. What's worse was that one of the Mahjarrat's most powerful numbers, Azzanadra, was occupied protecting Zaros.

Wahisietel didn't know how long they could hold out, despite reassurances from Zaros that the muspah would disappear soon enough. He had a plan, and Wahisietel did not wish to question his deity. But as another muspah shrugged off an ice barrage, Wahisietel found himself wishing for the hastening of Zaros' plan.

Then, suddenly, the muspah he was tangling with collapsed into a blurry haze of smoke and ash.

Breathlessly, Wahisietel let the spell he was preparing disintegrate in his palms. Shooting his head around, he saw that the rest of the muspah had met the same fate.

The rest of the Mahjarrat looked equally confused, alongside their relief. Azzanadra was the first one to speak up, beginning, "My lord, what has-"

Suddenly, the surrounding Mahjarrat were engulfed in a blinding white energy. It lifted them high into the air, weaving its way around their bodies and into their very core. The entire sky erupted into a wave of light that emanated from the Marker.

When the Mahjarrat were dropped to the floor, their skin had returned - no longer were they weak and skeletal. What's more, Wahisietel felt a power surging through his veins like no other. No previous Ritual had made him feel this… _alive_. This powerful, this invulnerable… like he was walking one step closer to godhood. Turning to look at Azzanadra, he saw traces of fear in the stoic Mahjarrat's eyes. With this new power that has been bestowed upon them by Mah, Wahisietel felt like he was something more than a mere Mahjarrat. Azzanadra, being their tribe's strongest, must have been feeling the weight of that burden tenfold.

"ZAROS!" A voice bellowed down to them, shrill yet commanding, cutting Wahisietel from his thoughts. Seren descended from the mountaintop, storming over to challenge Zaros. "You knew this would happen from the start. Your actions resulted in the death of our own mother. How could you?"

Zaros did not come close to matching the palpable emotion in Seren's tone when he replied, "She is truly gone? Then we did her a kindness, Seren. Her entire existence was pain."

"Her existence was _beautiful_," Seren's voice wavered, her entire body trembling. "She had the power to create life and she dared to do so, something you will _never_ achieve."

"Perhaps not, but now I am one step closer."

"I thought death would have taught you humility, but you are just as arrogant as before…"

"Wait…" Zamorak had just finished dusting off his robes while intently watching the back and forth between the two other deities. All the while, his brow kept furrowed, the cogs in his head starting to turn and pull him towards a dangerous realisation. "If Mah is dead, then why do I still feel that aura? That… pull."

He turned towards Bilrach as if seeking confirmation. He received it in the form of a shallow, grave nod of his head. Ever so slowly, he turned his head back to Seren with a glare as fiery as the lava falls around them. "You… you _cunt!_ It's been you all along, hasn't it? Seren, goddess of the elves. You came to us posing as Mah all those years ago. You taught the fucking Rituals to us. You made us believe they were the fucking will of a _fucking Elder God!_"

Zamorak's barely contained rage snapped the other Mahjarrat into silence; they could practically see the ferocious anger pour out of his skin and the venom drip from his tongue. It was a terrifying intensity that would not easily be forgotten.

"No- I... I was trying to help," Seren held up her hands, a gentle motion. "I could not foresee what would become of your race. How could I?"

But Zamorak was having none of it. Sweeping a dramatic hand towards Seren, Zamorak announced, "Mahjarrat, this is Seren, your false Mah. Bilrach will confirm, SHE is the one who came to your ancestors and taught them to murder one another. SHE ALONE bears the responsibility for what our race has become!"

"Please!" Seren's voice cracked. "I never meant to-"

"Millennia of anguish and suffering for our race is on HER hands!" Zamorak roared, practically shaking with fury.

At this, Zaros stepped in, "Leave her."

An interruption not welcomed by Seren. "Do not defend me, Zaros," she snapped. "You will never stand beside me again."

Wahisietel was still having a hard time letting all of this sink in. "Surely it cannot be. Our greatest tradition was never anything but a facade?"

"Mmm, yes, it is true," Bilrach solemnly confirmed. "I remember the visit, somewhere in my mind. Aeons ago, it was. You looked somehow different, Seren, but you are not Mah. You are a pretender."

"It was all lies?" Hazeel clenched a fist so tight that his claws began to draw blood from his palm. "Our race has dwindled to such a paltry number for nothing…"

"It was not for nothing!" Seren desperately defended, heart in her throat. "If you had not performed the Rituals to give energy back to Mah she would have torn this planet apart. Your whole race would have been annihilated!"

There was a fury in Azzanadra's narrow eyes that rivalled Zamorak's own. "And sacrificing our own kin was the best you could think of? With all the power and wisdom you have been gifted… THAT WAS THE BEST YOU COULD DO?!"

"I was naive, yes. I have made many mistakes. I bear the guilt of my actions every waking moment," Seren quivered, trembling under the weight of the Mahjarrat's judgement.

"You may bear the guilt, but not the consequences," Enakhra snarled. "We sacrificed our children for you. Our kin! Look what you have done to our glorious race! Look at what is left of us!"

"You taught us to kill one another. Made us rely on it. You led us to the very brink of extinction!" Wahisietel growled, eyes blazing with fire. _The sacrifices they had endured… all for nothing..._

Seren took an involuntary step backwards. Her face was a portrait of sorrow, of unbridled guilt and shame in the face of their anger. "Please, I am sorry… so, so sorry…"

"You do not get to be _sorry,_" Zamorak rounded back on Seren. "You are the cause of so much loss, so much motherfucking misery… you cursed our race and then you cursed the elves! You're a monster!"

It was too much for Seren to bear; all the sadness and guilt she felt inside overflowed and manifested into a vicious, ear-splitting, ground-shaking scream. The surrounding Mahjarrat dropped to their knees, clutching desperately onto their ears in a weak attempt to block out the worst of the sound, crying out in anguish as they did so.

Even Zaros was affected, hunching over and trying to cast a small protection spell to lessen the impact of his sister's scream. "Seren, stop, please!"

But Seren didn't listen; the ground began to split apart, rocks from cliffs above started to crumble and crash down around them.

"Sister, you will destroy them all!" Zaros pleaded, thankfully loud enough to get through to Seren. The screaming stopped, as did the shaking ground, and the Mahjarrat began to make their way to their feet.

Seren stumbled backwards, looking down at her trembling hands. She couldn't look up again, couldn't look at the Mahjarrat she continued to hurt. "I... I cannot stay here any longer. But it is not over between us, Zaros. Not this easily. You will pay for what you have done here. Mah's death is on your hands, and while I still draw breath, I will stand against you."

With that, she flew away.

Wahisietel was feeling numb, his life on Freneskae flashing before him. All the unnecessary deaths, all the pain he endured in Rituals… the whims of a naive god, nothing more. "How could she do this to us…"

"My sister did what she thought necessary," Zaros explained, his monotonous voice betraying no allegiance or emotion. "You must understand, Seren has always been caring to a fault; blind to the fact she smothers the subjects of her affection. Her heart ached for Mah, watching her pour what little energy she held into the creation of new beings - the Dreams of Mah. To sustain Mah - to save her from death - Seren taught those creations to transfer their energy back to her in small doses. It was the only way for Frenesake to survive."

"Pah! 'These creations'," Zamorak spat. "We were born the same way as you were, Zaros. Our lives did not matter less. Seren came to us, posing as Mah. She created the drain on our energy, made it necessary to either kill one another or die out. Think of the Mahserrat," he looked towards Hazeel, a former Mahserrat himself. "They chose to deny the Rituals, and then they all perished. If it weren't for Seren, that never would have fucking happened."

"She was only doing what she believed was the right course of action," Zaros repeated.

Zamorak bared his teeth. "Do not argue for her, Zaros. You have made an enemy of her now."

"Then let us dwell on her no longer. There is something far more relevant. I have kept my word, Zamorak. When Sliske holds his endgame, you will be my Legatus Maximus once more."

"Do not taunt me, Empty Lord. I owe you no fealty."

"We shall see."

Ignoring the remark, Zamorak turned back to the Mahjarrat, lifted his chin and declared, "You are free now, Mahjarrat. Time is on your side - there is no Ritual looming ahead, no pressure to avoid sacrifice. Make the most of your immortality."

"Just remember, it was _I_ who gave you this freedom," Zaros pointed out, stepping forward to address the crowd. "Under my guidance you have all shattered your limitations. It is… inspiring. But remember, Zamorak, I made good on my promise. For now, you belong to me."

"But you should also remember, I owe you a _single_ action," Zamorak countered. "Choose it wisely.

"Believe me, I will. But for now, there are other matters that require my attention. I will see you at the eclipse."

With those words, Zaros took to the skies and flew away, leaving the Mahjarrat alone once more.

In the silence, Akthanakos was the first to speak. "Just because our gods have a truce, doesn't mean I'm willing to bury the hatchet with all of you," he glared at Enakhra. "I do not put my trust in snakes."

Enakhra scoffed. "Don't get caught up in the moment. I have no need for Zarosians in my life."

Azzanadra declared, "You brought down the Empire, Zamorak. I will never forgive you. But… Zaros needs you. I will not jeopardize my lord's plan."

"Unless our gods are at war, we have no reason to fight," Wahisietel argued, stepping between the heated glares of Azzanadra and Zamorak. He looked Zamorak in the eye, feeling bile form in his throat as he bitterly remembered that fateful day in the Throne Room.

But he swallowed it down.

"Indeed," Zamorak replied, a cruel smile dancing on his lips as he saw the flickers of fury dance across Wahisietel's features. But for once, he decided to be above baiting, above taunting. This day was too important, after all. "After Sliske's game, all bets are off. But for now, let's keep things civil."

Khazard, who had remained silent throughout all of this, finally raised his voice, a simple question on his mind, "F-Father… why wait until now to tell me?"

Hearing his voice made Zamorak soften slightly. He turned away from the anger of the Zarosians and around to his son. Shrugging, he replied, "I thought he was going to kill us all. Figured it was as good a time as any. You and I should talk, Khazard, and we should all leave this wretched place once and for all."

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	46. Quest 10: Children of Mah (Ch5)

**Quest 10: Children of Mah**

**Chapter 5 - Arise Hero**

The Mahjarrat are dying, and they want answers as to why. To get them, they must journey back to Freneskae at the behest of Zaros, who promises them freedom from their Rituals once and for all. When Zamorak gets wind of his intentions, it leads to the two deities meeting for the first time since the great betrayal…

* * *

Jahaan's first stop inside Menaphos was a trip to the Merchant's bank, hoping he had enough coins stored away to afford the deposit on a room. Since leaving the Imperial Guard, a fair chunk of his money seemed to disappear all too quickly, and he couldn't even remember where it went. Still, there seemed to be enough left over for a room in the Worker District, if he wasn't picky about location or square footage. Realising that he no longer needed the shieldbow that he'd banked months ago, Jahaan decided to sell it once he got himself settled, alongside the arrows that accompanied it.

However, it turned out that Jahaan had vastly overestimated what he could afford. He knew he'd end up somewhere in the Worker District, but a tiny room in a shared house with eight other renters was something else entirely. It was a small cupboard of a room with a shabby bed frame, a badly knocked together bedside table and a rug as old as Jahaan was. There was just enough room to store his armour in a heap in the free corner, once he decided to get it out of the bank, but not enough room to maneuver beyond getting from the bed to the door. There was also no shared kitchen - no kitchen at all. Just a communal cooking pit outside.

_\- It's your fault he's dead -_

Still, Jahaan didn't plan to spend much time locked up in his miniature abode. While rest and recuperation were high on his list of priorities, Jahaan still needed to make money to pay rent, and he still needed to eat. No subsidies for the broken warriors. But fishing was something that Jahaan enjoyed, that he could make money from, and it was hardly anything Gaw'kara could get angry at him about. He fished enough to eat and then sold the rest to the local tavern for a fraction of what they were worth. Due to the supply coming in from the Ports District, it was the only way to get money for them. It was enough to keep up the rent for the little room he was staying in, at least. Once Jahaan's ribs healed enough and he regained some mobility, he took up a low-paying job working in the clay mines in the Worker's District. With the heavy sun relentlessly beating down on him every day, Jahaan reckoned he must have lost a stone's worth of weight in sweat alone. But it helped to recover some core strength in his once-broken bones.

Jahaan lived frugally, saving every extra penny of his salary once rent had been paid, and catching his own dinner in the stream near the mines. What was he saving up for? Runes. Lots and lots of runes.

_\- Did you really think there wouldn't be consequences? -_

When he wasn't at work, Jahaan was training, focusing on recovering his dual-wielded swordsmanship form. That, or practising the Ancient Magicks with whatever runes he could afford. Runes required for those spells were expensive and hard to come by, so he had to make every second of training count, as they ran out before long. While he made a fair chunk of change from the shieldbow and arrows he sold, Jahaan decided that money wasn't for training purposes. Instead, he'd use that money to buy some of the runes he'd take into Sliske's endgame.

Keeping busy - always working, always training… it was how Jahaan kept himself sane. Gods knew it was a struggle, especially in the beginning. Once the numbness wore off and he realised that he had to try and live his life now, a life where his best friend had been ripped from him…

...There were nights when Jahaan found himself quite content with the idea of drinking himself to death.

But he refused to give into the darkness inside his mind. He let himself cave once, when Cyrius was killed. That descent led him to the Imperial Guard, after a long and painful fall. But now? Now Jahaan knew he didn't have the luxury of breaking down. Not while Sliske still drew breath.

One of the first things he bought upon renting his room was a small chalk set. There, on one of his walls, he marked out a tally. Rows upon rows of tally marks, the exact amount of days until the eclipse that would signal the end to Sliske's game. As the days passed, he crossed out the tallies, charting the time until the final confrontation.

_\- What's your soul even worth to you? -_

Though he rarely left the vicinity of the stream, the mines and his home, one day Jahaan did take a stroll down to the Ports District, and out into the crowded and cramped neighbourhood he grew up in. It took Jahaan a lot of time to reorient himself as the area had been greatly developed since he left, but eventually he found the street he grew up on and, finally, his old house.

Jahaan didn't know what to expect, but if he really thought about it, this was it. The small abode had been repainted a brilliant white with the roof retiled. A nice allotment in the front garden. A football in the yard. As he walked past, he saw children in the dining room, and the silhouette of a woman in the background.

A new, happy family now lived in his old home. If his uncle still lived in Menaphos was questionable, but Jahaan had no intention of tracking him down, though he hoped the man was still around somewhere. He should only be in his sixties, after all. No doubt if he went down to the docks or his uncle's favourite tavern he could find him there without much digging.

But that wasn't why he was back in Menaphos, so he let the thought slip from his mind.

He had no time for family reunions. He had work to do.

Namely, to continue his training.

_\- It might not have been so bad, being a wight. Eternal life… -_

The Ancient Magicks were vital in the fight against Sliske. It was the only way to attempt to level the playing field. There was no point in learning shadow magick - Sliske was a master and nothing Jahaan could do would ever come close to his ability. It would be like trying to stop a landslide with a picket fence.

Blood magick interested him the most, namely because of some of the crueler spells the book hinted at. Theoretically, one could control the blood inside of another person, or at least blood that came from an open wound. Pulling the blood out slowly could feel like you're ripping someone apart from the inside out.

Jahaan quite liked the idea of that one. In fact, a lot of nights Jahaan sent himself to sleep by imagining every little injury he wanted to inflict upon Sliske.

Jahaan never thought of himself as a cruel person - until now, that is.

_\- He'll never forgive you now -_

With that in mind, Jahaan spent most of his time practising blood magick spells. Of course, they had common barrage and blast variants too. Smoke was something he'd learned a few spells of already, so he improved his knowledge of that in case the opportunity arose. When it came to ice magick, Jahaan didn't spend much time in that department. He didn't want to become Jack of all trades, master of none. No, a collection of decent, hard-hitting spells to defend himself against Sliske was what he needed.

That, and a miracle or two.

When Wahisietel made it back to his humble abode in Nardah, he took a moment to embrace the calm, the quiet… while he'd only been on Freneskae a few hours, it was enough time to make him desperately miss the serenity of Gielinor. But so much had happened, too much to wrap his head around right now. He needed to relax, and decided the best way to do that was to pull out the bottle of whiskey he'd been saving in the bottom of his desk drawer. What he'd been saving it for was a bit of a mystery, but the continued survival of his race and the reassurance of immortality seemed to be fitting enough. It was a fine bottle too, a gift he received from Azzanadra back in the days of the Empire. To say it had aged was an understatement. Whiskey was always a weakness for Wahisietel. He rarely indulged in fancy foods, but a good drink was worth the hassle of getting it out of his system later.

Pouring it into his favourite tumbler, Wahisietel lit up a pipe and reclined into his armchair, allowing the stresses of the day to free themselves from his mind...

...Until he felt it.

Exhaling sharply, Wahisietel downed the first measure in one go and placed his pipe on the table, walking up to the door to wait for the inevitable knock. He shifted into his human form, lest his human neighbours see him undisguised.

After one little tap on the door, Wahisietel swung it open, glaring at the uninvited guest. "Sliske."

Sliske smiled back at him, cloaked in a human's form, jet-black hair and a formal-looking shirt. "Brother!" he cheered. "It's been too long, wouldn't you say?"

"Not long enough," Wahisietel gruffly nodded his head, indicating for Sliske to come inside. As soon as he did, Wahisietel shut and locked the door, transforming back into his Mahjarrat form. Sliske wasted no time in doing the same, stretching out the kinks in his neck. "You're looking rather… well," Sliske began, an insinuation in his tone. "A good day then?"

"No need to play coy, Sliske," Wahisietel poured himself another drink. "Why are you here?"

"So hostile!" Sliske teased, draping himself over the couch as he did so. "I came for the gossip, naturally. So, who bit the dust this time?"

A suspicion confirmed. "So you DID feel the pull."

"I did, but I felt it would be best to not RSVP to that particular get-together," Sliske remarked, "I hardly believe I would have been Mr Popularity."

Wahisietel had assumed as much. "A wise move, but what I want to know is, why didn't you degrade with the rest of us?"

"I could answer that," Sliske replied with a raise of his eyebrows. "But I feel you have a theory of your own, brother."

Wahisietel nodded, curtly. "The Stone is holding you together."

"Holding me together sounds so desperate," Sliske waved a hand theatrically. "I feel we have a symbiotic relationship. After all, I'm finally getting some good use out of the thing."

Sitting up, Sliske propped his chin on his hands and grinned wryly. "So, who should I cross off my Wintumber card list this year, hm?"

"Mah."

At this, Sliske's interest was piqued. So Wahisietel relented and relayed the incredibly cut down version of events. He was just too exhausted to give a play-by-play of what happened on Freneskae, and frankly, his half-brother's joviality was grating on him more than usual. But more than that, Wahisietel was worried. Not that he'd let Sliske know, but it was his antics that were causing Wahisietel to lose sleep at night. Now that he'd missed a Ritual - the final Ritual, no less - Wahisietel was sure that such an action would not go without consequences.

After the tale was finished, Sliske leaned back on the couch, stroking his chin in contemplation. "Well, I certainly missed a shindig, didn't I?

Sliske might have been content embracing his casual and suave facade, but Wahisietel had had enough. "What is your endgame here, Sliske? You betray Zaros, have every major deity in Gielinor after your blood, and you made an enemy of the World Guardian you claim to-" he shook his head, his own frustrations catching up to him. "I just cannot see the plan in all this."

Sliske chuckled. "I do so hate parting with information. Knowledge is power, after all."

"Sliske, I'm serious," his tone had an edge of pleading about it. "You must be able to see that you are in over your head. I can help you. We can get through this together, like we always have."

Even Sliske's jovial mask softened slightly. "Dear brother, you needn't worry about me. It's all part of the plan, after all."

"Plans, plans…" Wahisietel muttered, clenching his teeth. "And what would happen if all your plans fell apart and you were finally cornered?"

"All my plans?" a familiar sparkle twinkled in Sliske's eyes. "Why brother, it is as if you do not know me at all. There is _always_ another plan."

After crossing out another tally on his wall chart, Jahaan knew it was nearly time. The eclipse was only five days away now. Five days until either he died, or Sliske did.

Runes had been collected in their hundreds, swords had been sharpened and armour had been buffed. Jahaan's ribs were as close to fully healed as he could get. The same went for the rest of his injuries, though his nose hadn't mended quite as nicely as he had hoped. Still, that was cosmetic only - nothing to worry about.

Jahaan was ready. Ready for the fight of his life, ready for his death. Whatever Sliske's endgame would throw at him, he could handle, or so he kept telling himself. He needed to stay alive long enough to watch Sliske suffer. He needed to avenge Ozan's fate. He needed to stop the voices in his head…

So after taking one last look at the chalk marks on his wall, Jahaan began to dress himself in his armour, equipping his swords to his hip and attaching the rune pouch to his belt. Gathering up his rucksack, Jahaan left a few extra coins on the mattress and embarked into the midday sun of Menaphos, perhaps for the last time.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	47. Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame (Ch1)

**Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame**

**Chapter 1 - Into the Abyss**

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske's games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat's design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske's madness once and for all...

* * *

Of all the people Seren thought she would have an audience with on that day, her brother was the last she expected, and certainly the last she wanted. But Zaros was insistent, and while every advisor around Seren urged her to turn him away, Seren sensed an importance in his visit that required her attention. If he was to reveal some small modicum of his plans to her, at least Seren could try and keep his intentions in check.

Zaros was a stain in the perfectly sculptured crystal palace. He was a blot of darkness, a symbol of corruption in an otherwise flawless city. For miles around, the icy white walls shone brilliantly in the sunlight, emerald roofs glowing and twinkling, sapphires shining from the windows. Zaros was a shadow, a vacuum of insincerity and manipulation that Seren spent her entire life trying to escape from. Now, with five days left until Sliske's endgame, she allowed him into Prifddinas, a city he had been barred from visiting since he first stepped foot on Gielinor.

At the top of the Tower of Voices, the two siblings that were nearly as old as the universe itself conversed to the backdrop of chirping birds and the sound of distant harps.

Seren shook her head firmly. "After what you did... after what you made me do? How can I trust you?"

"You cannot," Zaros admitted. "What you did… what I made you do, it is unforgivable. We are both damned by it. But it was a necessity. The only solution to the damage you had wrought."

"She was our _mother_," Seren's voice cracked at the term, the wound as fresh as ever.

Zaros disagreed, "No. She was our creator. I know enough of my study of mortals to see the difference between the two. If they had been your elves, would you have even hesitated?"

"That's not fair…"

"Little is. We both know enough to be certain that the universe does not recognise fairness. Regardless, I come to you not in the hope of reconciliation, for I know that is not possible."

Seren couldn't help but laugh, a mirthless sound full of indignation. "No. It really isn't."

"I come in the expectation that you recognise the danger here," Zaros continued, "That we cannot stand in opposition. Not now, while there is too much at stake."

Seren nodded, grimly. "The Catalyst. It cannot fall into their hands."

"No. It would be catastrophic; the damage they could do. It could wake the elder gods prematurely."

"But even if it did, perhaps that is the way of things," Seren argued with despondent acceptance. "Perhaps it is Gielinor's destiny."

"You do not believe in destiny any more than I, Seren," Zaros countered. "You know that events must be guided, orchestrated; things happen because they are made to happen. Not because the universe has decreed it."

"Perhaps," Seren may disagree with Zaros' methods, but some of his philosophy did align with hers, though she was reluctant to admit it. The divergence was that Zaros believed _he_ should orchestrate everything. Seren believed him the last person who should be in charge of the destiny of others. "But I will not let you claim the Stone, Zaros."

"As long as the Catalyst is out of the younger gods' hands, that is all that matters," Zaros affirmed, resolutely. "I do not intend to tear the world apart like they would. But our plan for the Stone is secondary - what is imperative is claiming it."

"And how do you intend to go about that?" Seren queried, still wary. "Sliske has something planned during the eclipse. He is an unpredictable being, one that is difficult to plan against."

"Sliske's game is a formality," Zaros stated. "He is foolish to deign to think he has any modicum of power or control over us. The agreement I made with Zamorak and the others will ensure the outcome sways in my favour, but only if I have your assistance, sister."

Jahaan knew he needed allies, but despite being the World Guardian, they were few and far between. In fact, Jahaan could count all those he genuinely entrusted with his life on one hand.

Azzanadra wasn't an option - he'd undoubtedly be standing beside Zaros, and understandably so. Wahisietel no doubt would refuse to even get involved in his brother's twisted games. Ozan was-

Jahaan violently shook his head, forcing the man from his thoughts.

That only left one name that sprung to mind.

Short of dying and coming into contact with one of his avatars, Jahaan figured the best place to start looking for Icthlarin would be in his temple in Sophanem, Menaphos' sister city. Before Ozan had helped repair relations between the neighboring cities, legitimate migration was off limits. Fortunately, the bridge connecting the sister cities was open to the public once again.

Jahaan entered the back room of the temple to find Icthlarin and Death already in a heated discussion.

"Icthlarin, think about what you are suggesting," Death implored, a pained weight in his glowing cyan eyes. "You do not have the powers the other gods possess. This is reckless! They could destroy you!"

"They could try," Icthlarin countered. "Do you have such little faith in me?"

"In you I have the greatest faith. It is in them that my faith wavers. They cannot be trusted, and they will show no mercy."

"And I would not expect them to, but this is a debate for another time. At present, we have a guest."

Icthlarin and Death turned to the doorway to see Jahaan standing there, sheepishly. "Uhh… was I interrupting something?"

"Death is just concerned for me, my friend," Icthlarin explained, a sad smile on his features. "He worries that I will not return from Sliske's game, but I must go regardless. It was I who brought Sliske and the Mahjarrat to Gielinor, a mistake that I must do everything I can to correct."

Shaking his head clear of the cobwebs such memories brought forth, Icthlarin regarded Jahaan with a steady resolve. "Death and I have come to an agreement. Neither of us will seek the Stone for our own personal gain. We have no true need for it, and we cannot adequately protect it from all of the other gods. If we are to claim it, we shall find a way to keep it buried, away from all the gods, and Sliske, once and for all. Will you join us in this pledge?"

Smiling thinly, Jahaan nodded. He wanted nothing more than for the Stone to be buried for all eternity, and while that didn't work so well the last time they tried it, hopefully with the help of an actual god they would stand a better chance of success.

The dark shape of the moon had stolen its way across the bright desert skies, capturing the brilliant clear cerulean and replacing it with thick, heavy purple, dripping through the skies like ink. The ominous atmosphere was suffocating, the tension of the impending event palpable.

As darkness overwhelmed the skies, Jahaan knew Sliske's endgame had begun.

The meeting point was just east of Nardah, a small desert town north of Sophanem. Thanks to Icthlarin's teleport, Jahaan didn't have to face the magic carpet experience once again. Luckily, the desert was much cooler on this day, for he brought with him heavy armour and a rucksack full of provisions to prepare himself for the upcoming trials Sliske would no doubt unleash. Brushing some hair from his eyes with the back of his gloved hand, Jahaan and Icthlarin crossed the final distance to the meeting point.

As they did so, Jahaan wanted to get something off his chest while he still had the time. Before long, the game would begin, and they'd all be lost in the chase for the Stone. "Hey Icthlarin?" he began, quietly.

Curious by the odd tone, Icthlarin turned to him. "Yes, friend?"

"I've decided," Jahaan began to smile now, content and wistful, determined and ready, akin to the faint flickers of fire in his eyes. "Let's be honest, I'm probably not going to survive this. If I die, don't take me to an afterlife. Get rid of my soul. I… I think I've done all I want to do here. It'll also be one last way to piss Sliske off, knowing that I threw away the soul he wants so badly."  
Jahaan forced himself to chuckle, but it was grim and hollow. He struggled, acutely aware now more than ever of his own mortality.

Icthlarin's brow furrowed; he stopped walking. "Are you sure, Jahaan? You might not be in the best place to think clearly."

"No, I've thought about this a lot," Jahaan maintained, and it was the truth. Ever since Ozan… Jahaan realised he'd had his fill of life. He'd had so many adventures, lived so much, but all the good was behind him now. There was nothing to look forward to. Besides, he didn't want to tie himself down to a deity in the afterlife. He was just… done. "I've made up my mind."

Already at the meeting point were Marimbo and Brassica Prime, two deities whose absence had, in all honesty, gone pretty much unnoticed in the past years of Sliske's games. Even at the original meeting at the Empyrean Citadel, they'd refused to attend, finding such affairs tedious and not worth their time. Jahaan wondered why they'd finally decided to show up now, of all times. _Have they been playing possum all along? Do they really have a plan to get the Stone? _

Once he realised what he'd just considered, Jahaan broke out into a chuckle. _And your winner is… a drunk monkey and a divine cabbage…_

To break him out of the amusing thought he was lost in, the air crackled, energy and light reacting against each other as a crash of white lightning teleported Armadyl and a handful of his aviansie warriors into the area. Soon afterwards, a blue sphere faded into view, and once it disappeared, Saradomin had arrived, flanked by a band of imposing White Knights and Commander Zilyana. The blue-skinned god smiled wryly at his bird-like counterpart.

"Ah, Armadyl. I should have guessed you would be one of the most eager to arrive."

"I merely see no point in being 'fashionably late'. We all want this over with as quickly as possible," Armadyl countered, giving a friendly nod of greeting to Marimbo, Jahaan and Icthlarin.

A quick pulse of green energy teleported Death next to Icthlarin. "Are you certain about this, Icthlarin?" he checked, voice low, but apparently loud enough for Saradomin to hear.

Saradomin clucked his tongue in disapproval. "Yes, Icthlarin, should you really be here? Don't you have duties to attend to? You must know the Stone will never be yours."

"Do not pretend to comprehend my duties Saradomin," Icthlarin replied. "Your attention only focuses inwards. I serve a greater purpose."

"What arrogance! You dare pretend to know my will?"

During this, Seren, Zaros and their respective entourages teleported into the fray - Seren with her elves, and Zaros with Azzanadra and Char. Seren arrived in a wisp of blue particles, while Zaros came in a storm of purple energy.

In an attempt to calm their tensions, Armadyl stepped forward, his arms stretched between them in a gesture of peace. "Gentlemen please, there is a time and a place for this argument once the Stone has been claimed."

At that moment, Zamorak teleported in from a sphere of red energy, followed by Hazeel, Moia and Lord Daquarius.

Eyes narrowed, Armadyl added, "On second thought, if we must channel our anger somewhere, I believe the perfect target has just arrived."

"Try it," Zamorak spat, rounding on the winged deity. "It's been so long since I've had the pleasure of watching an avianse burn."

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

"Yes! Armadyl, together we can destroy him once and for all!" Saradomin cheered, his followers' hands reaching for their weapons in preparation.

"And give Sliske exactly what he wants?" Seren pointed out. "He wants us to fight. He wants to turn this into the next God Wars."

"To destroy each other now would serve no purpose except for Sliske's amusement," Zaros concurred. "Calm yourselves and be rational."

"Zamorak needs to pay for his crimes!" Armadyl maintained, his voice dripping with bitter hatred.

Then, a mysterious voice floated around them. "_Yes… Armadyl. He should pay. Strike him down now. Kill him. Vengeance could so easily be yours…"_

Easily, Zamorak clocked the voice's origin. "Fuck off with your baiting, Sliske. Show yourself and get this over with."

"_Oh well, if you insist…"_

From black lightning, Sliske teleported into the area, his arms waving outwards in a grand gesture of welcome, though with a cockiness only he could attempt to pull off.

Instantly, Jahaan felt his throat go dry, the air being sucked right out of him in the presence of Sliske. Eyes flashed with cinders; he wanted to be sick. He wanted to take out his dagger and slash that cruel smile off his face once and for all. He wanted to run, take off into the desert and never look back, but he felt a gravity pulling him down, a weight fusing his feet to the sand beneath him. Jahaan wanted to look at Icthlarin for reassurance, at anyone or anything to distract him from Sliske's pull.

Sliske's canary-coloured irises shone out of the dark recess of his hood, attaching themselves to Jahaan's emerald eyes. It was fleeting, but Jahaan could have sworn he saw a slight upturn of Sliske's lip, a cruel yet sincere smile meant only for him. Swiftly, it was replaced by the mask of manic joviality he used to greet the rest of the crowd. "Welcome, welcome! Oh, it's so very good to see you all here. Well, to be honest, I rather hoped to see a few less of you, but we'll make of the situation what we can. Now, before we get onto the main event, please, a round of applause for those of you who actually followed the brief and _killed a god_. You know, as you were _meant to_."

He gestured towards Armadyl, his smug, sing-song voice carrying his words. "Armadyl, a round of applause to you. You were the first to really embrace this game. The way you decapitated Bandos… exquisite! Bravo, bravo!"

"I didn't do it for your game, Sliske," Armadyl growled in response.

"Oh no, of course not. You murdered a god for peace, love, justice, blah, blah, blah…"

Then, his expression darkened severely as he turned to Seren. "You, dear, dear Seren. You had the greatest kill of them all, didn't you? Matricide. You took the life of your very own mother… our mother, Mah, who dreamed us all into existence. Part of me hates you for that. Odd isn't it? That I should care, that her death should matter in the slightest? And yet the sting is there. That slight knot in my stomach, that dull pain in my chest... I mean, bravo! You have done what so few others have achieved…" his eyes traced the crowd, finally settling upon Jahaan as he finished, "You... hurt me."

Seren took a deep, extended exhale. "You can stop this madness, Sliske. Call off this game. Let this end."

Sliske laughed, a bitter cackle. "And ruin everyone's fun? How could I do such a thing? I made a bargain, and one must stick to their bargains."

Stepping forward, Zamorak sneered, "I'm not much of a team player, but what's to stop us all setting aside our differences and making toothpicks out of your ribcage?"

At this, Sliske let out a hearty laugh. "I suppose nothing, except for the fact you'll never find the Stone without me. And that's why we're all here, isn't it? Ah, except we're _not_ all here. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce our latest contestants... the dragonkin!"

From the darkened skies, a fierce cry pierced through the tense air, with the swooping of heavy wings to follow it. The sound grew louder, nearer, until three dragonkin descended to the ground, the earth shaking as their sharp talons embedded into the dirt.

Eyes wide, Saradomin demanded, "What madness is this?!"

"So this is your grand plan? To attack us all with dragonkin… again?" Armadyl chided, adopting a subtly defensive pose as he regarded the newly arrived dragonkin.

"Come now, don't be so rude to our guests. Kerapac here has shown nothing but the absolute pinnacle of good manners. The dragonkin have every right to be here. After all, the Stone of Jas is sort of their forte."

"This is outrageous," Saradomin maintained. "I will not stand for this!"

Sliske called his bluff. "Then leave. No one is forcing you to be here. All of you are free to leave. If you don't want the Stone then you can just totter off home and be free of this… _indignity_."

Predictably, Saradomin remained quiet.

"Anyone? No? I didn't think so. So let's cut this bluster right now shall we? None of you are going to leave, so-"

"I am," Brassica Prime, the cabbage god, cut in with defiance and confidence in its low, bellowing tone. "What need has the mighty Brassica Prime for such shiny baubles? Does deliciousness itself not flow through these very leaves? Am I not nutrition incarnate? The Cabbage of a Thousand Truths is like a carrot on a hook, dangling over the cooking pot. You boil yourselves alive to reach it only to find that it is withered and tasteless, leaving only bitter regret on your pallet."

Marimbo, god of monkeys, spoke up, "Yeah… what leafy said. All this fighting and backstabbing, there's so much more we could be doing instead. You keep your stupid stone, I'm going to go and play more amusing games."

With that, the two of them teleported away.

Sliske could only stand there in bafflement. "Well, okay… that was… right," he shook his head, trying to regain his train of thought. "Well, none of the _rest _of you are going anywhere I assume. So let's discuss what is going to happen next. Below you sits the aptly named 'Heart of Gielinor'. A focus for the vast anima mundi of this remarkable planet. From its walls I have carved a great labyrinth. To whomever gets through the labyrinth the fastest I will gift the Stone of Jas. A simple concept, but it will become oh so much more..."

Jahaan didn't like the delivish turn in Sliske's tone. It spelled trouble.

"Now, we've got a lot of strong contenders here - and Icthlarin - so it really is anyone's game," Sliske continued, "But I do hope one of the more interesting gods takes the prize. My money's on Zamorak - think of the chaos you could cause, brother!"

Zamorak jumped to the bait. "Yes, immense chaos! Why not skip the formalities and just give me the Stone now. Save this little game for another time."

"Nice try, Zammy. But I worked all week on this maze and you're going to damn well play. Now, there is a big glowing orb in the labyrinth. That's your initial goal. The first person to reach it gets to deal a significant blow to a contestant of their choice. Be the first through the portal and I will grant you the power to eject the entourage of any god! That's right, they will have to traverse the rest of the labyrinth alone, making them much more vulnerable to, oh I don't know, perhaps an adversary with a grudge wanting to settle some old scores. Also, thanks to their past accolades in godslaying, Armadyl and Seren have earned themselves a little head start. But don't let that discourage the rest of you. And with that, let the game begin! Ready… set... GO!"

Not wasting any time, Jahaan rushed into the portal Sliske created, entering the maze. Luckily, he didn't fall from too great a height and managed to catch himself quite nimbly with a break fall, avoiding injury. For now, at least. Looking around, he was dismayed to see he had been separated from Icthlarin, hoping he'd find him soon so he didn't have to traverse the maze alone.

The walls surrounding him were an impenetrable dark grey stone composed of jagged rock, towering about fifteen feet above Jahaan, with a murky grey mist forming some sort of translucent ceiling. Blindly, he started to hurry down the long corridors, hoping for a sign, a hint, _anything_ that suggested he might be going in the right direction. However, wherever he went, the identical walls stretched away from him as far as the eye could see. In his peripheral vision, Jahaan noticed what looked like the head of a statue, so he went towards it, pleading in vain that it would be the first step to conquering the labyrinth. Just as he approached it, however, the eyes began to glow, and the booming, slick voice of Sliske echoed throughout the vast chasm.

"_Oh… just one more thing. Those with divine natures may be feeling a little... odd... right about now. That's because I have removed your divine nature from you. In short, I have brought you all down to the same level. Each of you is now no more powerful than the lowliest of World Guardians. It should be a novel experience for you. But enough of this idle chatter. There is a Stone waiting to be claimed. Go get it."_

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	48. Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame (Ch2)

**Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame**

**Chapter 2 - Labyrinth**

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske's games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat's design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske's madness once and for all...

* * *

Jahaan's strategy of blindly sprinting around the maze as fast as he could didn't seem to be working so well so far. He'd encountered a couple of puzzle doors that made his head spin, so abandoned them in hopes of something simpler later on. Unfortunately, simpler didn't come, so he settled into trying to work out the answer to this riddle door he had come across.

Four small masks were connected to the door, each with a different emotion carved into it - happy, neutral, sad and… broken, for lack of a better term. The mask was smashed in places, an emotion indiscernible. Above them read the line, '_I am not a morning person. Nor am I a mourning person'_.

Aside from that, nothing. No hints, no instructions. Jahaan didn't know if he had to press just one mask or multiple, or what the consequences for a wrong guess would be. No doubt they wouldn't be pleasant.

Running his fingertips over the masks, Jahaan tried to think as rationally as possible. Not that Sliske was a rational opponent. But no matter how hard he tried, the mental block refused to lift; Jahaan had never been good at puzzles, and the time constraints around the whole labyrinth concept were stressing him out. He had to move faster if he had any chance of retrieving the Stone.

Hitting the door in frustration, Jahaan groaned, "Fuck it!" and pressed the broken mask.

Instantly, he was shot back across the corridor until he slammed into the wall behind him, twitching from the effects of the static shock.

And to make things worse, Sliske's laugh swarmed the air around him. "_Ouch! That had to hurt! Are you okay there Janny? Do you need a time out?"_

Colours danced in Jahaan's vision as he picked himself up off the ground. He refused to reply to Sliske's taunts.

"_How's the ribs doing?" _Sliske asked, pretending to be nonchalant. "_Glad to see you walking without a cane now."_

Jahaan continued to ignore him, breathing heavily to try and drown Sliske out. It had limited success.

But Sliske's next taunt really tested Jahaan's resolve. "_You know, Ozan's made himself rather at home in the Barrows…"_

Jahaan twitched, and this time it wasn't an after effect of the static shock. Back at the door now, Jahaan repeated the riddle over and over again in his head, allowing no other thoughts to enter his mind except for that one line: '_I am not a morning person. Nor am I a mourning person'._

Oh, he wanted to bark back at the smug Mahjarrat. He wanted to shout and curse every obscenity in every language he knew. He wanted to threaten him, to tell him in detail every little wound he was going to inflict upon him… but knew that was exactly what Sliske wanted him to do. So, he refused to give Sliske the satisfaction of a response.

Until he claimed the Stone, at least. Then all bets were off.

After Jahaan reaffirmed that to himself, a calm contentment washed over him, and he was able to look at the riddle with fresh eyes.

Once he did that, the solution became obvious.

He pressed the neutral mask and the door clinked open.

Satisfied and with renewed vigor, Jahaan continued on through the maze. Sliske appeared to have grown weary of trying to talk to him, for now at least, which was a huge relief.

When Jahaan rounded the corner, he saw a somewhat giddy Armadyl at the other end of the corridor, avianse in tow. If Jahaan had managed to catch up to him so easily, either the head start Sliske promised was a lie, or Armadyl had severely failed to capitalise on the advantage. But from the look on the deity's face, he didn't seem to mind.

Kree'arra was a proud and majestic avianse with gorgeous wings of gold. Jahaan recognised him from way back in Guthix's cavern; a being like that is hard to forget. Fortunately he didn't have to fight him then, and hoped he never had to. Those talons were sharp, and the bolts of the crossbow he wielded were even sharper.

Taka'ara was a broader-shouldered and shorter avianse that Jahaan didn't recognise. Little did he know, Taka'ara was the strategist who helped secure victory over Bandos.

When Jahaan was spotted by the winged deity, he was summoned over with excitement. "Jahaan! Come, come. Talk to me. Did you know that I haven't moulted in millennia? Not a tail feather has fallen from me since I became a god. But this brief interruption of my godhood… it has got me moulting again. The feathers are falling away from my body. I can feel the flesh underneath! At first, not moulting made me feel unbeatable. If time and the elements couldn't ruffle me, then what could? But then I felt like an imposter among my people. I wanted to be with them, but how could I? Their feathers fell with age. I outlived countless generations. Now, I am sharing the company of the aviansie as an equal! Forgive me, it's exhilarating to lose one's power."

Jahaan smiled, warmly. He'd never seen such pure, innocent joy on another man's - or bird's - face. It'd been a long time, too long, since he'd encountered such happiness. The avianse surrounding him seemed warmed by the deity's glee. "Always seeing the silver lining, Armadyl. I'm glad you're doing well."

"Oh, I am. It may seem like such a little thing, but it has helped subside the misery of Sliske's little game."

Picking off one of his feathers, he handed it to Jahaan. "Take this. If I get back to my people, it will be something of a collector's item, and if I don't get back to my people, well, it will be even more desirable."

"Thanks, Armadyl," Jahaan took the feather and placed it carefully in his backpack.

Motioning for his followers to continue on, Armadyl turned to leave. "Let's see if I lose every feather in this place. That would make for an unusual return to my people - a bald eagle."

Zamorak, on the other hand, was a lot less jubilant as he traversed the maze. Being stripped of his divinity didn't bother him as much as he thought it would, but the tedium of the maze and these ridiculous puzzles Sliske had set out grated on him. No-one had any idea that Sliske had planned out an absurdly large labyrinth for the gods to explore; Zamorak was hoping for something a little more combat-oriented.

As backup, Zamorak brought with him a handful of his most trusted allies and advisors. Moia, Lucien's half-human, half-Mahjarrat daughter who led Zamorak's army during the Battle of Lumbridge; Hazeel, one of Zamorak's oldest and closest Mahjarrat friends; and Lord Daquarius, the well-armoured Lord of the Kinshra.

"Your power's diminished too, Hazeel?" he checked as he brushed a calloused hand against the wall's surface, sensing the magic within.

"Yes, Zamorak," Hazeel gravely confirmed. "Sliske has somehow managed to hone in on the slight divinity of the Mahjarrat in order to quell our power."

Grumbling a Freneskaen obscenity, Zamorak huffed before continuing, "The only thing that gives me comfort in this shitshow is knowing that all the other gods are in the same boat I am. If one of them wants to start a fight, well," he cracked his knuckles. "It'll be one less enemy for us to deal with after we claim the Stone."

"My lord," Moia called out softly. "What of Vinculum Juris? If Zaros calls upon his favour, you will be compelled to give him the Stone."

"True, that's how the contract goes," Zamorak accepted, but a cunning smile tugged at his lips. "But if I take the Stone and escape Sliske's games before Zaros' has a chance to call upon this favour of his, we're home free. The contract only gives that manipulative motherfucker a small window to ask his favour - the duration of Sliske's game - leaving us with a massive loophole to exploit."

Zamorak and company particularly hated the rune combination lock doors; anything that required patience wasn't exactly Zamorak's forte, so he allowed Hazeel and Moia to work on it, lest he resort to ripping the door open with his bare hands. Of course, upon encountering the door, that was the initial strategy - break through.

This was much easier said than done, however, and such attempts left Lord Daquarius with a nasty bruise on his shoulder after he valiantly threw himself into the door, ricocheting off the thing and tumbling to the ground.

Eventually, they got the door open the conventional way. Soon after, they ran into Armadyl's faction.

When Armadyl spotted company at the end of the long corridor he brought his avianse entourage to a halt. "Well, if it isn't the murderer."

Zamorak choked out a cruel laugh. "That's rich coming from you, godslayer. How does killing Bandos fit into your 'peace, love and justice' bullshit dogma?"

"That was different," Armadyl maintained, chin held aloft and shoulders broad. "You murdered almost my entire species. Your attack on Forinthry tore Gielinor apart."

"Like I had a choice. You and Saradomin stood side by side ready to pronounce my death sentence. What would you have me do? Keel over without a fight?"

"We could have been reasoned with," Armadyl insisted through gritted teeth. "We would have listened. We would have accepted a graceful surrender."

Zamorak wagged a clawed finger at Armadyl. "You… perhaps. You still cling to the morality of mortals, perhaps trying to convince yourself you still are one. But not him. Not that fucker. He's wanted me dead from the moment our war began. He can't stand the fact that my message is as powerful as his."

"That does not excuse what you did," Armadyl growled, a violent, squawking sound that caused the avianse to tense up, ready to fight as soon as their god commanded it. "To save your life, you took thousands of others. Genocide, Zamorak! You nearly destroyed the avianse in your war!"

"Your war," Zamorak retorted with a growl of his own. "I wasn't the only one throwing fists in the God Wars. You brought so many of your people to Gielinor - warriors, to fight. It was war, and in war, people die. What did you expect? To roll over my forces without a single casualty?"

"No of course not. I-"

"Then you were prepared," Zamorak cut in. "You were prepared to sacrifice every aviansie you brought to Gielinor. And hey, you won the war. But you paid the price for that victory. Only you can decide whether it was worth it."

"That does not excuse what you did," Armadyl maintained, coldly.

"No, and I'd never pretend it did," Zamorak replied, "We all have scars to bare. I've done things that would make you lose sleep at night, but I've done them for the greater good. I... have made mistakes. I've seen those that I care about die… but I have owned those mistakes. It's time you did too. So save your anger for who it's really meant for."

"Oh? And who might that be?"

Zamorak laughed mirthlessly. "Isn't it obvious? YOU brought your people to this world. YOU armed them with swords and spears and sent them out to face my forces. You asked each and every one of them to die - to die FOR YOU. You're angry because they did. Because in your fucking arrogance you thought that you were untouchable and your people invulnerable. Pride can be a terribly powerful weapon, but the blade always points inwards."

Shifting his stance, Zamorak continued, "So, we can settle this right now and you can risk losing a couple more of your precious avianse… or we can go our separate ways and hash this out after the Stone is claimed. What'll it be?"

Glancing back at his avianse entourage, Armadyl tried to gauge their reactions for an insight of how they wanted to proceed. Even though they were outnumbered, Kree'arra and Taka'ara were both in favour of the fighting option, hands clutched tight around their weapon and steely eyes piercing holes through Zamorak. Armadyl had always preached peace, but understood why his soldiers were so thirsty for the blood of the man that nearly wiped out their race.

Despite this, Armadyl was less inclined to resort to violence. Not while the Stone was still on the line. And as much as he hated to admit it, Zamorak had a valid point. Armadyl was angry at himself - intensely so… it was just so much easier to direct that anger outwards rather than inwards.

Sighing, Armadyl eventually said, "I do blame myself and rightly so. But I am never going to forgive you Zamorak. I won't strike you down today, but I will not mourn if another does it for me.

Zamorak grinned. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

All things considered, the maze was going well for Jahaan so far. He'd passed another riddle door, conquering another line of Sliske's terrible poetry, and came across one of these rune combination lock gizmos that took far less mental effort than he assumed it would.

Foolishly, Jahaan allowed himself to be confident.

Speeding around the next corner, Jahaan almost tripped over, skidding to a halt so abruptly as he came face to face with Icthlarin. Relief overwhelming his features, he beamed, "Icthlarin… nice to see a friendly face again."

Icthlarin tried to smile too, but there was something a little bit off about him. "Jahaan... it is good to see you. I am glad... that we could find each other so quickly."

Noting the odd twitching movements and uncertainty in his usually resolved tone, Jahaan queried, "Icthlarin? You seem… different. Are you okay?"

The demigod shook his head, a frown dominating his expression. "No… I cannot explain it, but no. I feel… I feel as if I am slipping away… my mind is becoming foggy… muddled… I…"

Icthlarin proceeded to sniff the air in front of him. "You… you smell of Friend…"

Jahaan's eyebrows crinkled. "What?"

Slapping himself on the side of his head, Icthlarin creased his eyes tightly shut, trying so hard to remain focused. "I... I am sorry, that... I just... what's happening to me?"

Suddenly, the maniacal, twisted laughter of Sliske filled the air. "_Oh this is wonderful! I was curious as to what you would be like with your divinity curbed, but this is glorious! Far better than I could have ever hoped."_

While Icthlarin growled, Jahaan shouted, "What have you done to him, Sliske?!"

With a sigh, Sliske replied, "_It's as if no-one listens to me… honestly… I explained this earlier. I've removed a lot of the divinity from every contestant, including little Iccy here. Now I get to watch as they try and grapple with who, or what, they were before they ascended to godhood. This is Icthlarin's little struggle."_

Icthlarin's eyes were burning red. "Put… put me back…"

"_And save you from this delightful torment? Why in all creation would I do such a thing? This is delightful! Mighty Icthlarin, noble guardian of the Underworld, wasn't always an erudite scholar. Though he might have been the pet of one. He was just a regular mutt. Weren't you, Iccy?"_

Icthlarin just about managed to catch himself before he began barking, but his teeth were bared and sharp, desperate for Sliske's blood.

"Stop this Sliske!" Jahaan ordered, the lump in his throat growing unbearable as he watched his friend grapple with his fading humanity.

In response, Sliske let out a short, sharp laugh. "_Stop this? Why would I do that? To help him? To ease his suffering? You've met me, right? I think we've long since established that's not the way I work. No, it's going to be so much fun watching you drift more and more away, Icthlarin. To see you so humbled, so easily. Truly my finest work."_

"SLISKE! END THIS!" Icthlarin roared into the air, but this time, he garnered no reply.

"I don't think he's listening any more," Jahaan regarded his friend with heavy eyes.

Icthlarin whimpered, "Jahaan, don't… don't leave me here alone. May I come with you? I need someone... to remember who I am… I'm… I'm scared, friend. So scared. My sentience… I feel it slipping away..."

Jahaan tried to force a smile that didn't reek of pity, knowing how much his friend would hate that. With as much confidence as he could muster, Jahaan rested a gentle hand on Icthlarin's shoulder and assured, "You're going to be alright."

Icthlarin wagged his tail, but upon realising what he was doing, he cleared his throat. "Err, let's just get through this as fast as… um… fast."

"_Will you stop smashing stuff, Strisath! It's making a terrible mess and you're really far behind!"_

Sliske's announcement echoed through the labyrinth, bouncing off the walls before fading away into the white noise surrounding them. For Seren, that was the steady rhythm of the elves' heartbeats alongside her own; it was soothing, a comforting blanket of noise to weave her thoughts between.

As they traversed the labyrinth, Seren and her elves had been floating ideas as to the origins of their predicament. Namely, the sudden mortality of the gods.

Seren pondered aloud, "Do you think it is some sort of mechanism?"

Lady Trahaearn, the eldest of Seren's entourage, shook her head. "It can't be, m'lady. There ain't a nick nack in the world that could strip a god of its power. Plus it ain't scientific. An effect like this would have to be transmitted as light or sound, and there's more walls in this place than Morvran's holiday dungeons. Yep, this'll be your good ol'-fashioned magic."

Lord Arianwyn added, "If it's magic, it's nothing like any I've encountered. It doesn't even share characteristics. See, spells borrow power from one another. That's the way of magic. Bones to Peaches shares something with Hi-Alchemy. Crystallise borrows from the Lunar Magicks. This feels utterly new, disconnected. It's like a new branch of magic. Which is exciting of course!"

"Exciting, but not exactly helping us determine its origin," Lady Trahaearn continued with a frown. "Unless... unless we're overthinking this. Step back, think about what has happened recently."

"Ha! I see where you're going with this!" Seren exclaimed, wagging her finger excitedly as they skipped around another corner. "Yes, yes, there have been a couple of instances. The World Guardian, for instance. The World Guardian can nullify god magic. I believe Guthix manipulated the anima in some way to achieve this."

Lord Arianwyn added, "And there's the edicts themselves. But no one knows if that was Guthix himself casting out the gods, or if it was the anima, the Sword of Edicts, the Stone of Jas…"

"The Stone of Jas is where my coins are on," Lady Trahaearn stated, trying to examine the walls for any clues as to which direction they needed to go in, using her well-tuned ears to listen out for the faint hum of magic.

Seren responded, "I agree with you, but there are complications. The Stone of Jas does not simply have a switch that turns off god magic. Only a seasoned user would know how to generate that power from the Stone. Either Sliske has become extremely proficient, or someone else is aiding him. Someone extremely powerful."

Lord Arianwyn insinuated, "Very few beings would have such knowledge of the Stone of Jas…"

Seren's concern deepened. "I fear I know where you're going with this, Lord Arianwyn. I pray you're wrong, for the sake of this world."

Lady Trahaearn gulped. "A worrying thought indeed, M'Lady."

"It is. That's why we need to make sure that we win the Stone, and that it can be kept in safe hands. Away from Sliske. Away from my brother. Away from everyone…"

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	49. Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame (Ch3)

**Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame**

**Chapter 3 - The Wrong Path**

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske's games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat's design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske's madness once and for all...

* * *

Jahaan and Icthlarin entered through the latest riddle door they solved and into a large square chamber. It was a seemingly innocuous room with no tiles, no masks or pillars, nothing.

Satisfied with the easy progression, Jahaan went to step forward, but Icthlarin pulled him back. "Wait," suspicious, he sniffed the air, an involuntary growl escaping from his lips. Shaking his head, he said, "Bad. Place smells bad."

Icthlarin backed away to the safety of the wall, shrinking up against it in fear.

Taking the hint, Jahaan stepped back, surveying the room a little closer this time. Again, there was nothing obvious to see; before, he and Icthlarin had come across a trap in the floor indicated by pressure pads, but it was bypassed easily enough. If this room was rigged, these traps were a lot more insidious, and therefore a lot more deadly. If Icthlarin hadn't stopped in, who knows what Jahaan would have wandered into.

Peering over his shoulder, Jahaan regarded the whimpering Icthlarin with heavy eyes. Then, something caught his eye above the canine deity, just above the door frame. An inscription, slightly faded, yet the only noteworthy thing in the entire chamber. Curious, Jahaan stepped on his tip-toes to try and get a better look. Squinting, he just about managed to make out the words, but noticed they weren't in the Common Tongue.

"There's something up here written in Infernal," Jahaan announced, reading aloud, "'_Si solverit mihi, non cesset; si me tangere, ego, ut sit snared; si perdas me, nihil refert. Quid sum ego?'._ I think that translates to 'If you break me, I do not stop working; if you touch me, I may be… caught?; if you lose me, nothing will matter. What am I?'"

"Snared," Icthlarin corrected, twitching. "If you touch me... I may be snared."

The canine deity's brow was furrowed heavily with the strain of keeping lucid. "I… do not…"

"It's okay," Jahaan assured, "I've got this, don't worry."

Playing the riddle over and over in his head again, Jahaan tried to fumble for a solution. This was slightly trickier than the terrible-poetry-turned-riddles he had encountered thus far, and he knew that the longer he spent here, the further he was from the Stone.

"Any ideas, Icthlarin?" he asked, knowing it was in vain. Icthlarin's mind wasn't working well enough to solve riddles right now. The deity shook his head, whimpering.

Minutes passed, and countless ideas turned around in the World Guardian's mind. Time? The soul? Secrets? Nothing fit the profile, and Jahaan found himself stuck in a rut, the same wrong answers repeating over and over in his mind. Now he was starting to panic, that he'd be trapped in this room for the rest of the maze. Icthlarin had tried the door, but it had locked behind them. His heartbeat thumped hard against his chest, beating in his throat. Jahaan placed a hand on his neck, feeling his heavy pulse.

That was when it came to him.

"I am the heart!" he exclaimed, gleefully. "A broken heart will not stop working, a touched heart can become snared, but if you lose your heart… then nothing matters anymore."

Depressing, yes, but it fit the profile. Still, even by thinking he had the right solution, Jahaan didn't know how to proceed. There was nowhere to enter the solution. Frustrated, Jahaan stood on his tip-toes and examined the riddle again, trying to see if he missed anything the first time around. But when he traced his fingers over the inscription, the room started to shake. Glowing tiles with letters on them emerged from the floor, covering the length and breadth of the room. A small column emerged from the ground at the other end with a button on top. But more worryingly were the holes that appeared in the walls with javelin tips pointing out.

Gulping, Jahaan seriously hoped he had the right answer now. The issue was, 'heart' in Infernal was '_cor'_ \- there weren't enough letters for him to step on to cross the distance. Same went for the Common Tongue spelling of 'heart'. From what Jahaan could tell, he had eleven tiles to cross. Fortunately, he quickly came to the realisation that 'I am the heart' translated to '_ego sum, et cor'_, which was eleven characters long.

Praying to- well, nobody in particular, since they all had their own problems right about now, but he prayed that he had the right answer.

Tentatively, he stepped on the first tile - 'E' - wincing as he awaited imminent death. When death did not arrive, he opened his eyes and exhaled the breath he'd been holding for far too long. Carefully, Jahaan hopped across the remainder of the letters, all fairly close to one another, all fairly easy to jump to… except the last one.

Jahaan made for the 'R', hoping he could just stretch his leg far enough to land on the correct tile. Unfortunately, he stumbled on his take-off, realising mid-air he was going to undershoot and land on the neighbouring tile instead of the 'R'. As soon as his foot made contact with the wrong tile, Jahaan had enough sense to fall forward, off the tile-board, and make himself as flat to the ground as humanly possible. The sounds of javelins whizzed behind him, hearing the dull *thunk* of them embedding in the wall instead of his flesh.

Once Jahaan was absolutely certain no more javelins were going to fire, Jahaan heaved his way to his feet, trying to remember the correct way to breathe. His heart threatened to jump out of his throat, pulsing and pounding in his neck, making every gasp for air a challenge.

After composing himself, Jahaan pushed the button on the pedestal and the tiles vanished. Seeing it was safe, Jahaan ushered Icthlarin across the room and out the next door which, to their delight, led to the glowing orb.

Jahaan hurried to touch the glowing orb with Icthlarin fast in tow, panting with relief. Catching his breath, Jahaan tightly squeezed his eyes shut, determined to maintain composure as he knew what would have to happen next.

Sliske was nearby this time, Jahaan could feel it, but he fought past the temptation to peer into the Shadow Realm.

Predictably, Sliske's voice weaved its way throughout the chamber. "_Ladies and gentlemen, the World Guardian has taken a decisive lead and is now the first through the door. As promised, he can now remove the entourage of a participant, leaving them to walk these cold corridors all alone. So tell me, Janny, who's it going to be?"_

"Myself," Jahaan declared, his confidence shaken as soon as he glanced at the twitching form of Icthlarin at his side. He was walking on all fours now.

"_Erm, what? You don't even have an entourage!"_ Sliske countered, bemused.

"I-I have Icthlarin! Let him out of here!" he just about refrained from saying please. He didn't want to be reduced to pleading, but the waver in his voice betrayed him, "Icthlarin is part of my entourage. He's in pain. Let him leave."

"_That is not how this works."_

"This is your game and your rules, Sliske," Jahaan clenched his fists, his teeth gritted. "Are you going to follow them, or is this all a big farce?"

There was a pause, followed by a long, exasperated sigh. "_Fiiine. You get to let your doggy out for a walk. But Death's part of that package deal too. If Iccy goes, he goes."_

"Fine, just let him out," Jahaan hurriedly replied.

Icthlarin looked so fragile now, so hollow as he tilted his green eyes upwards to meet Jahaan's gaze. "Th... Thank... you… friend."

Putting a hand on Icthlarin's shoulder, he bent down to his level and assured, "You'll be okay. Don't worry about anything."

The canine deity just about managed a cracked smile before he was teleported away to, hopefully, recover with dignity.

"_There," _Sliske huffed. "_Don't say I never did anything for you."_

_I'm going to murder you, you piece of shit,_ Jahaan growled inwardly, storming off down the next corridor in search of further progress in the labyrinth.

Zamorak stomped through the maze, rounding another corner that only led to a dead end. It was the fifth dead end in a row. Grunting, he punched the wall, watching as pieces of stone crumbled away, before regenerating themselves back into perfect place in an instant. Hazeel, Moia and Lord Daquarius dutifully followed in tow, but they didn't dare raise their voices, sensing easily the foul mood their deity was in.

"Sliske! I know you're watching! Get here now!" Zamorak shouted to the skies. "I can hear that fucking chuckle. Don't think I can't!"

Out of thin air, masks floated from above, each with a different emotion crudely carved into them. For every mask that fell, the echoed voice of Sliske followed.

"_Feeling lonely, Zamorak?"_

"_Want to chinwag about old times?"_

"_Remember when you and I turned the Mahjarrat against Icthlarin?"_

"_Remember when you stabbed Zaros in the back?"_

"_Remember when you burned a hole in half the world?"_

Zamorak caught one of the masks and threw it against the labyrinth wall, shattering it on impact. "I'm getting tired of your shit, Sliske. Get down here NOW!"

More masks fell. "_Remember when you tore a chunk out of Lumbridge?"_

"_Remember when you almost died at the hands of the blue charlatan?"_

"_Remember when Zaros plucked the wings from you like a fly?"_

"_Remember when you were drawn to this game, even though you said you wouldn't play?"_

"ENOUGH!" Zamorak cut in. "I should have known better than to get an adult conversation from you, you mad bastard. Oh, I can't _wait_ to get my hands around your throat, as soon as I've got the Stone back…"

To worsen his mood, when Zamorak and company rounded the next corner, they came to a sharp halt at who they saw at the end of the corridor. There, working on a locking mechanism, was Seren and her entourage.

Seeing Zamorak's presence in her peripheral vision, Seren slowly raised her head and turned towards Zamorak.

The glare in the Mahjarrat deity's eyes could cause nightmares.

Taking a tentative step backwards, Seren gulped. "Zamorak, I…"

"Kill the elves," Zamorak ordered, crossing the distance between them. "I will deal with Seren."

Edging backwards, Lady Trahaearn quivered, "What do we do, my lady?"

Drawing his thin sword, Lord Arianwyn answered in Seren's place, "We stand and fight!"

"No, we leave," Seren ordered. "I will not risk your lives."

Zamorak challenged, "Then maybe before we kill them, how about we shed some light on your _true_ nature?"

Seren's breath caught in her dry throat.

"Oh, what's wrong? Do you not wish to subject your _favourites _to the truth?" Zamorak chided, venom on his tongue. "Are they too _precious _to hear who you really are?"

Narrowing his eyes, Lord Arianwyn declared, "We have no wish to hear your lies, you snake."

"Snake?!" Zamorak roared a sharp laugh, acid spewing from his forked tongue. "That's _so_ fucking _rich_. You really don't have a fucking clue, do you? You don't know the goddess you stand beside. For an age we adored her as you do now, and all we got from it was fear, terror, and paranoia. We were all abused and wandering Children of 'Mah', all thanks to the curse she inflicted upon my people."

Lady Trahaearn scrunched up her brow. Looking up at Seren, she queried, "What is he talking about, my lady?"

"I'll answer that for her," Zamorak cut in, fire in his eyes. "I'll tell you all what Seren, beloved of the elves, did to my people. Did she raise us up to crystal towers? Everlasting life? No. She hid behind the mask of Mah and made us kill each other. Did the elves have to sacrifice their own fucking breatheren to subdue an elder god? No, they were too precious for that. Let the Mahjarrat die out. Let them suffer for centuries. We built a society and culture centred around these murders of hers, bound to them, for if we do not kill one of our own, we wither and die. _That_ is who you stand beside, elves."

Seren felt the heavy weight of her own elves' eyes upon her, regarding her with an emotion she'd never seen from them before. It was a crude blend of confusion, fear… and disgust. Once again, the shame she'd endured for generations reared its ugly head, constricting her breathing as it once did. She felt like she was back on Freneskae again.

Taking a deep breath to try and clear her mind, she forced herself to look into Zamorak's vengeful eyes and plead, "Zamorak, time has changed me. I did what I thought I had to in order to ease Mah, to stop her violent nightmares tearing apart Freneskae. I see now how very wrong I was to bestow that upon your people."

"Save your bullshit speeches," Zamorak spat. "I have to claim the Stone of Jas. Then, we will finish this…"

Zamorak and his entourage turned and walked away, and Seren could only watch him go, her mouth agape, her hand slightly raised as if she wished to call him back... and the haunting image of betrayal and loathing in his dark eyes to overwhelm her mind.

"You do not know him as I do!" Azzanadra persisted, standing between Char and the next corner, angering the fire enchantress.

Azzanadra and Char had been at loggerheads since the start of the labyrinth, much to the exasperation of Zaros. The Empty Lord did not care to be a mediator in their conflict; it was bad enough having to endure these mortal humiliations without two of his closest allies biting each other's ears off.

In response, Char squared up to him and hissed, "Look at everything he has done. You are a blind fool to continue trusting him. Just because he warmed your bed once, doesn't mean won't kill us all now."

Maddened, Azzanadra swung around to Zaros. "Why do you listen to this… to this _dancer,_ lord?"

"Better to be a dancer than the high priest of a church of dust!" Char countered, summoning fire to her fingertips.

"Enough!" Zaros cut in, stepping in front of the two incensed warriors. "You two have been at one another's throats for too long. We must not lose sight of our goal. So, we settle this now, maturely, not like squabbling children."

Humbled, Azzanadra bowed his head, "Apologies, my Lord."

Char muttered a similar, yet less whole-hearted, apology of her own, before she declared, "We need to kill him, preferably before he has another chance to open his mouth."

His tone now a lot more measured, Azzanadra replied, "If it matters at all to you, I do not want to lose one of my few remaining brothers if I can help it. I do not care to be the last of my kind."

"_So considerate of you, brother!" _Sliske's voice floated from out of nowhere.

"Sliske!" Azzanadra exclaimed, relieved. "We still have the opportunity to resolve this amicably before anyone else gets hurt."

With a chuckle, Sliske replied, "_Oh Azzy, you silly, silly moo. I think the time for amicable resolution has long since passed, wouldn't you agree?"_

"No, it hasn't. You and I were blood brothers once, Sliske. Friends," Azzanadra reminded, his eyes heavy as he looked upwards.

"_Yes, friends. Tell me Azzy, if I had come to the Ritual Site... would you have had me sacrificed?"_

Azzanadra's hesitation was all Sliske needed to confirm his suspicion. "_So you were more than willing to sacrifice your _'friend' _then, weren't you?"_ he growled, "_I wouldn't call the Marker an 'amicable resolution'!"_

"What was I to do, Sliske?" Azzanadra snapped in his frustration. "You had turned your back on everyone. You had betrayed our lord!"

"_Your lord,"_ Sliske corrected. "_I've been ousted from that little club, remember?"_

Zaros stepped forward and placed a gloved hand on Azzanadra's shoulder. "My child, we must continue onwards. Do not let Sliske infect your mind with his poison."

"_Yes, go on, Azzy,"_ Sliske sneered, "_Run back to your lord. See if I care."_

"You," Saradomin narrowed his eyes, his entourage instantly unsheathing their weapons. "I had hoped you had fallen prey to one of Sliske's little traps. It would be a fitting end."

As misfortunate would have it, Saradomin had run into Zamorak and company at a crossroads in the maze. Naturally, pride would not let them turn back. If anything Saradomin was glad for the chance at confrontation.

Zamorak's follower's readied themselves for the inevitable conflict. The Mahjarrat deity replied with a cruel sneer, "Do you think yourself deserving of such fortune, old man? Of course we had to run into each other."

"Ha. Perhaps, but last time we had this dance you were not so fortunate…" Saradomin recalled, a taunting upturn in his smile.

"Ah, bit it's different now, eh Sara?" Zamorak's eyes flashed. "You feel it, don't you? Mortality's a motherfucker, isn't it? Aching bones and weary joints... the ravages of age and the inevitability of death… it's eating at you, isn't it?"

"Do not mistake experience for frailty, usurper," Saradomin warned, haughtily. "Mortal or not I am still your better. I am Saradomin. I governed worlds before you even knew what another world was. You don't really think you're a match for me, do you?"

At this, Zamorak actually laughed. "Without your divinity you're just a sad old bastard. Do you even know how to fight? I've snapped the necks of creatures that would give you nightmares. But hey, if you're tired of living, step up. I'm sure your human shields won't mind if you handle this one alone, right?"

Jahaan stopped dead when he heard the voices he was encroaching on. Pressing against the wall, he edged along it and peered slightly around the corner to confirm his suspicions.

"Shit!" he cursed, dashing back behind cover and praying he wasn't spotted.

Of all the deities Jahaan had to run into, it was two of the ones that had a real bone to pick with him. What's worse, they were blocking a crossroads in the maze, one that would hopefully progress him further through the labyrinth. After losing Icthlarin, Jahaan's sense of direction had undergone a string of back luck, running him into dead ends and forcing him to circle back on himself one too many times. Finally he found a new door, an unexplored route… and it had led him here.

Bracing himself, Jahaan took a deep breath and strode around the corner to meet his fate, hoping they would be too wrapped up in each other to care about him passing through.

"Ah, look who dares to show his face," Saradomin drawled, narrow eyes glaring down at the World Guardian. "Now I can kill both of my enemies in one go."

Zamorak scrunched his brow, biting back a smirk. "What did he do to piss you off?"

"He murdered one of my knights in cold blood!" Saradomin declared, angrily.

Jahaan opened his mouth to defend himself, but then realised he couldn't, instead saying, "None of us have time for this. Let's just move on."

"Where are you going, World Guardian?" Zamorak stepped out to block Jahaan's path. "For all we know, you could be in on this. Not like you've got the best track record, what with that shit you pulled at Sliske's lair. We wouldn't be in this fucking mess if you hadn't stabbed me in the back!"

Jahaan didn't raise his chin to look up at the Mahjarrat deity towering over him, but his eyes trawled up to meet Zamorak's. "I'm not working for Sliske. Move."

"In fact," Zamorak continued, brazenly, "For once in his miserable life, Saradomin might be onto something. Let's settle this, right here, right now."

"I have no objections," Saradomin motioned for his entourage to draw their weapons. Zamorak's did the same.

"Yeah great idea," Jahaan rolled his eyes, taking a step back to get some breathing room. "Give Sliske exactly what he wants. Kill each other. And you know what he'll do when you kill each other? He'll laugh. He doesn't want you dead because of some great plan. He wants you to kill each other because it's _funny_."

The deities and their respective entourages were forced into silence, Saradomin reluctantly admitting, "The World Guardian is right."

"Of course I'm right!" Jahaan found himself getting more heated now, the intensity of his tone increasing as he continued, "Who do you think has been at the centre of all of this shit? Not you. Neither of you have seen friends killed by Sliske. Neither of you have seen those closest to you warped into mindless wights. Neither of you have been beaten into a bloody mess after enduring his sick and twisted games. For all that you've been through, know that it's a drop in the ocean compared to what Sliske has done to me. So don't you DARE think I'm siding with that psychopath. And for once - just for once - shut up and stop giving Sliske what he wants."

There was a long, tense pause following this. Saradomin and Zamorak gave each other a look they'd never shared before, one that silently conveyed the begrudging acceptance that perhaps - just perhaps - their conflict wasn't all that important right now.

Clearing his throat, Saradomin spoke first, "You have endured much, World Guardian. I respect that. Truly. But you would be wise to watch your tone."

"He's got a point tho, Sara," Zamorak stated. "And Sliske's a little higher up my shit list than you are. So let's continue this another time, eh?"

"Indeed," Saradomin agreed, readying his entourage to move on. "My followers and I have a Stone to claim. We can return to our conflict once all this is over."

Zamorak grinned. "Count on it."

With that, Zamorak and his followers continued on to a path to the east, while Saradomin took his entourage down a westernly route. In the centre of the crossroads, Jahaan was left alone, his body crumbling with the relief of a conflict avoided. Catching his breath, Jahaan straightened out his armour and marched on northwards.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	50. Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame (Ch4)

**Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame**

**Chapter 4 - Moral Maze**

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske's games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat's design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske's madness once and for all...

* * *

Jahaan had been traipsing through the maze for quite some time now without running into anyone. After his spat with Saradomin and Zamorak, he was glad for the solitude. He knew at some point he'd run into the dragonkin - just his luck, after all. From Sliske's announcements, they'd been making quite the mess. Recently Jahaan had stumbled over the debris of a broken statue, no doubt their doing.

Jahaan had no idea how long he'd spent in the maze, but it had to have been a couple of hours by now. His waterskin was empty, and the measly amount of food he'd packed had long since been scoffed. The thing about being stuck in a labyrinth was the lack of visual progression. Sure, he'd reached the glowing orb thing first, but beyond that, it was a free-for-all. Yes, he'd solved a whole bunch of puzzle doors and trap rooms by now, but they didn't show any signs of lessening. Who's to say Zaros wasn't one locked door away from the Stone, or Saradomin hadn't run himself in circles and was back at the start? Of course, the frustration was exactly what Sliske was hoping to elicit in the competitors. Seeing them squabble and break would surely be amusing for him...

Eventually Jahaan stumbled upon Zaros and company, the deity greeting, "Well met, World Guardian."

"Hello Zaros," Jahaan cordially replied. "How are you finding the game so far?"

"It is an unnecessary formality," Zaros replied, betraying no emotion. "Sliske loves to caper and play the fool, but his time now is almost at an end."

"You expect to win the game?"

"It is not a question of winning or losing," Zaros stated. "I have never seen the need, or felt the desire, to participate in mortal entertainments and this is no different. I have made sufficient effort to ensure that whatever the outcome, things will transpire according to my design."

Jahaan narrowed his eyes, warily. There was something subtly threatening about Zaros' tone, something insidiously ominous, but Jahaan didn't want to delve too much into it now, lest he accidentally make another enemy here.

_But if I get the Stone, how would that fit into Zaros' plan?_ Jahaan couldn't help but muse to himself.

Such a thought only spurred Jahaan on, not wanting to waste any more time with idle chit-chat. He admired Zaros, but not enough to relinquish the Stone to the deity, should he claim it.

But before he left, he desired a small word with Azzanadra, who looked a lot more sullen and morose than usual. The Mahjarrat seemed to be staring off into space.

"Azzanadra?" Jahaan called.

The Mahjarrat looked up, shaking the cobwebs from his mind. "Apologies, World Guardian. My mind was elsewhere."

"That's okay," Jahaan was slightly worried about Azzanadra's tone but thought better than to question it. Mahjarrat hated talking about their feelings at the best of times, but in front of their god? Not a chance. But Jahaan had been hoping to run into Azzanadra, so he pushed his concerns aside for a moment and said, "When I met with Wahisietel, he said another Ritual was on the horizon. Did one actually happen?"

Azzanadra nodded, gravely. "A Ritual was conducted, but Sliske did not attend. It does not seem to have affected him, though. Not yet, anyway."

"Why do you think that is?" Jahaan asked, having ideas of his own but hoping for some clarity.

Clearing his throat, Azzanadra's eyes darted to Zaros and Char, refusing to meet Jahaan's own. "Apologies, Jahaan. We can discuss this after the Stone has been claimed."

Azzanadra strode off down the corridor, Jahaan numbly watching him go. He looked to Zaros in hopes of an explanation, but only received a courteous, "I must continue. Perhaps we will meet at the end, World Guardian."

Strisath and Sithaph had separated from Kerapac at the start of the labyrinth, not caring for the more reserved strategy of the Dactyl dragonkin. No, the Necrosyrtes didn't have the patience to follow Kerapac's lead, instead taking to barrelling through the labyrinth like an unhinged tornado. Unsurprisingly, they hadn't gotten far in the labyrinth, save for the few mask-based riddle doors they got through by pushing every button until the door yielded. They shrugged off the static shocks they endured like they were pinpricks.

Wings didn't help them, though they insisted on repeatedly trying to fly over the walls, the forcefield stopping them every time.

Unfortunately for Armadyl, he just so happened to run into these dragonkin.

Armadyl's breath caught in his throat as soon as he saw the dragonkin storm around the corner, halting his avianse and trying to subtly move in front of them to protect them.

Gulping, he whispered to his entourage, "Stay back. Don't provoke them."

As soon as Strisath and Sithaph locked eyes with Armadyl, they stalked over, a hoarse gargle from a forgotten flame dying in their throats.

"Why so scared, little budgie?" Strisath taunted, hungry eyes raking up the avianse god's tall frame.

"I have no quarrel with you," Armadyl tried to sound confident, but his tone was wavering.

"Nor we with you," Sithaph's tone was taunting and cruel. "Why would we fight the 'Great Armadyl, holder of the Siphon'?"

"'Great Armadyl, Beheader of Bandos'," Strisath joined in with a cackle, skulking around to block one of Armadyl's exits.

"'Great Armadyl, Stone Coveter'," Sithaph hissed, a strangled rasp of a sound.

Trying to quell his shaking, Armadyl let out a long breath and began, "Look, I am not interested in the Stone. Not personally. I want to lock it away, far away from any gods. I'm here to end this. And I could help all of you! I may be powerless here, but away from this game - I would free you. I would try to free you!"

Sithaph tilted his head to one side, licking his lips with a forked tongue. "You would do that for us? You would set us free? We wouldn't feel this... rage, this strength in pain? It would be gone?"

Sighing with relief, Armadyl excitedly continued, "Yes, all of it! I would dedicate myself to returning you to your noble roots, I-"

He was cut off by having to duck a fireball that was aimed too close to his head. Smoke huffed from Strisath's nostrils as he grunted, "Foolish pigeon, it would be easier to rip out your stupidity than rip out the Stone's curse."

Sithaph barred his fearsome set of teeth. "You stand here, with the gift of the elder gods removed from you, and claim to save us? Arrogant bird. The fury of the dragonkin cannot be quelled! Not by you, and not by any of the other pathetic creatures that call themselves gods…"

With that, they both let out an ear-piercing scream in tandem and bolted down the next corridor.

Armadyl watched them go, thankfully with a pride more singed than his feathers.

Once again, a vexing puzzle door blocked Zaros and his entourage from progressing in the maze. The puzzle blocking the door in question was a mechanism of sorts, one comprised of a dial that could only be solved by deciphering the rune symbols surrounding it. There were dozens of potential combinations, but Zaros had soon figured out the correlation between the composite runes in an incorrect colour and the number of twists required on the dial. A good twenty minutes at a previous gateway had led to that discovery and, to their relief, Sliske had been consistent in his solutions.

When they walked through, who was there to greet them at the other side, but Zamorak and his entourage.

The thick tension between the two groups was suffocating, a choking silence of calculations and false bravado.

Of all of them, Azzanadra was the first one to break the silence. "Well… this takes me back."

"Be silent, worm," Lord Daquarius warned. "You are in the presence of a god!"

Licking his lips, Azzanadra cracked a challenging sneer. "Do you have any idea who we are?"

"Relics of the past who should have stayed buried," Lord Daquarius spat back, clutching onto the hilt of his sword.

"Better a relic than an usurper!" Char boldly retorted.

"Enough, all of you," Zamorak groaned, exasperatedly. "Zaros, Azzanadra… it's been a minute."

Azzanadra replied, "We seem to be running into each other a lot these days," he squinted at Moia. "I do not recognise the company you are keeping. What is she supposed to be?"

Zamorak introduced, "This is Moia. Lucien's daughter."

Azzanadra's face turned a sickening shade of disgust. "Lucien's… daughter? How? But… her face. What is wrong with her face?"

"I am half-human," Moia announced, lifting her chin in dignified defiance.

"Half?" Azzanadra choked. "But that is not possible… my lord, did you know of this abomination?"

"Yes," Zaros confirmed. "But she is not important. The secret of her creation died with Lucien."

"Thankfully!"

"But I could be the future of our race!" an insulted Moia protested.

"Our race?" Azzanadra spluttered through the indignity. "Better to not have a future than this… this 'hybrid'!"

"Zamorak told me you were a self righteous fool," Moia growled, baring her teeth. "I see now how right he was!"

Shaking his head, Azzanadra asked, "Zamorak, how can you stand to be around this 'thing'?"

Zamorak simply replied, "Moia is a loyal follower. She is also perfectly capable of speaking for herself."

Still, Azzanadra persisted, "My lord, we cannot let this abomination roam free. It is an insult to the Mahjarrat. We must kill it!"

"We must do nothing of the sort," Zaros firmly disuaged. "Moia is here as Zamorak's agent, and Zamorak and I have come to an understanding, as you should remember."

"_Oh, really? And here I was hoping for the big showdown…"_

Zaros audibly sighed. "Hello Sliske."

"_By all means, don't let me disturb you,"_ Sliske continued, his honeyed voice dripping through everyone's last nerve like acid. "_I really am sorry to have missed that shindig on Freneskae. You two finally kiss and make up, hm?"_

Zamorak's grin turned malicious. "Sliske! You know, I really wish you had made it to the Ritual," he flashed a devilish sneer at Azzanadra. "It would have been fun to see some of your _closest companions_ finally prove they were sick of you."

At this, Azzanadra started to storm forward, but Zaros held an arm out to stop him.

"_Come on Zaros, let them get it out of their system. After all, I've stripped you all of your powers. Even Azzy's feeling the effects. It would be fun to see a little fist-fight between him and Zammy."_

"Be quiet, Sliske," Zaros warned, coldly.

Naturally, it was a warning Sliske did not heed. "_Then Zamorak, maybe you could take Zaros on personally? After all, you've already spent an eternity without your god powers. You KNOW how to fight. You could easily take him."_

Zamorak had had enough. "Shut the FUCK UP Sliske!"

Sliske tutted. "_Oh, Zammy, you're still such a bore. Go on, then. Go back to your disappointingly non-violent squabbling."_

"It is time to leave," Zaros announced.

"Actually, I wanted to speak to you alone, Zaros," Zamorak's tone was measured, his anger dissipated.

Char boldly interjected, "Whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of all of us, usurper."

Hushing her, Zaros assured, "Do not fear, my child. Zamorak and I have come to an understanding. I wish to hear him out. Please…"

He motioned for Zamorak to follow him to the far end of the corridor, though both deities knew they were being watched like hawks by the beedy eyes of their respective entourages.

"Your followers are very protective over you," Zamorak commented, looking over his shoulder at the glare Char was shooting him. He waved in return.

"They are," Zaros simply replied.

"Of course, while we're both here, stripped of our powers…" Zamorak trailed off, an unreadable glint in his eyes.

"Yes?"

"This would be the perfect time to complete the rebellion."

"By killing me?"

"Yes. I don't think they could save you in time."

Calmly, Zaros inquired, "And will you do so?"

After a long pause, Zamorak let out a deep, pent up sigh, and said, "It's very, very tempting... but no."

"And why not?" Zaros' stoism did not waver.

"Because the rebellion's thousands of years in the past. Because you helped save the Mahjarrat. Because we share a mother? But also because perhaps... I finally realise that I haven't got shit to prove to you anymore. When you were gone, I conquered worlds. I brought death to whole races and redemption to others. Thousands of years ago I wanted to prove I could be a better leader than you. I've since proven that a hundred fucking times over."

Though it couldn't be seen behind his mask, Zaros' lips danced with the faintest glimmer of a warm smile, one he hadn't achieved in a milenia. "Good. It was always my hope for you that you would fulfil your potential. I simply did not anticipate it coming in the form it did."

Zamorak felt like smiling too, but he restrained himself. "Yes, I recall you spoke of my potential when you made me your Legatus Maximus, back when I first became a general of your armies and swore to do your bidding."

Zamorak relaxed his tensed up stance, his face washing over with a tranquility he hadn't felt since stepping inside Sliske's labyrinth. "It's strange… we have not spoken like this in so long, my lord. I feel… 'loyal'..." his eyes grew wide. "Wait…"

Zaros brought a single finger to the lips of his mask, signalling quiet. "Sliske must not know. I will not take advantage of you."

Zamorak knew this feeling - he felt it many times before, even right before he stabbed Zaros with the Staff of Armadyl. It was the insidious, smoky feeling of having his mind infiltrated, a power Zaros held and administered so easily. The 'curse' that Zaros spoke of, doomed to enforce loyalty in the beings he commanded over, never knowing if it was genuine or not.

_What the fuck? Was his divinity… somehow not stripped..._

However, instead of anger at this unwelcomed familiarity, he only felt serenity. He knew not to ask questions, and he knew why not to ask, because he knew the answers; these questions and answers belonged to Zaros - they were not his own. "Then... this feeling of calm...?

"It is not real," Zaros confirmed. "Your rage will return. Your rage at me, in particular. But I urge you, Zamorak, for the sake of the warlord who once showed so much promise, and the righteous divinity you have become, do not let it master you. Now, I must depart."

"Goodbye my lor-..." Zamorak shook his head, clearing his mind. "Goodbye, Zaros."

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	51. Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame (Ch5)

**Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame**

**Chapter 5 - Amor Fati**

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske's games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat's design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske's madness once and for all...

* * *

He made it. By the gods, he made it.

After spending what felt like half a lifetime running through that cursed labyrinth, Jahaan finally found himself at the end. Stepping through the final door, Jahaan could see it in the distance. The Stone of Jas, tantalisingly close.

But, of course, nothing's that simple.

A large chasm separated him from the Stone. The ground simply seemed to end, a terrifyingly steep drop into the black abyss of nothingness. Jahaan felt himself getting vertigo just by peering over the edge. There were two thin bridges crossing over to the Stone, both blocked by an energy field of some kind.

Jahaan tried to place his hand through the shield, but naturally got blocked. Frustrated, he looked around the side, wondering if there was a way to jump past the shield, but it was too risky.

Grunting, Jahaan called out, "What's this about, Sliske? I'm at the end of your stupid maze. Give me the Stone."

A cackle reverberated around him. "_Patience, Janny… there's just one more hurdle in your way. For that, we're awaiting the company of another…"_

Irritated, Jahaan settled himself on a ledge and waited, examining the remnants of his backpack to see if he had any food left. Seeing that all the supplies had been used, Jahaan tossed the backpack down to the ground with a huff.

It didn't take long for him to work out Sliske's intentions, that being forcing the World Guardian to race another competitor. It seemed ridiculous - he had reached the Stone first, why should he have to go through this pathetic little hurdle?

_Because Sliske finds it funny, _Jahaan grumbled internally. No doubt, that was why Sliske did a lot of things.

Before long, the chamber door opened again and Zamorak emerged through, entourage in tow. He regarded the bored looking World Guardian, then the bridges over the chasm and the Stone beyond. "What's all this bullshit?"

Picking himself up off the ledge, Jahaan rolled his eyes. "I think Sliske wants us to race."

Zamorak mirrored the eye roll. "Of course he fucking does."

"_Gentlemen, please!" _Sliske's vexing tone interrupted them. "_Take your places. The race for the Stone is about to begin!"_

Reluctantly, Jahaan and Zamorak readied themselves on the starting block just in front of the protective shield. Honestly, Jahaan was more pissed off than he was anxious. After traversing the labyrinth for hours and making it to this 'final section' minutes before anyone else, he still had to race Zamorak for the Stone. Zamorak, a taller and stronger Mahjarrat not weighed down by the burden of armour. Jahaan deduced quickly that Sliske no doubt just wanted to see him lose up close and personal, to drag the Stone just out of reach at the very last minute. One last middle finger in all these bullshit games. Despite that, Jahaan's initial goal had not changed - kill Sliske. Getting the Stone would have just been a nice bonus. But since he was so close to winning, damnit, he _wanted_ to win. Maybe he and Icthlarin could end up doing some good with the Stone, or at least hide it away to prevent another rerun of the God Wars.

However, his disheartened mood lifted slightly when Sliske announced, "_Oh dear, this won't do at all. I think Jahaan deserves a little headstart - he did make it here first, after all. I'm going to make you work for it, Zammy. Now, on your marks… get set… RUN!"_

Thinking he actually had a chance, Jahaan bolted forwards the second the shield dropped, sprinting down the narrow platform and over the first hurdle effortlessly.

But it wasn't long until Zamorak was running too.

Zamorak was incredibly agile for a creature of his size, but so was Jahaan. The World Guardian vaulted over the obstacles with ease. The height difference certainly worked in Zamorak's favour, but Jahaan was nimble, managing to edge his way into the lead before Zamorak clawed it back.

Zamorak's entourage looked on in trepidation. When Moia realised her master's victory wasn't guaranteed she resorted to desperate measures. Picking up a stray piece of debris, Moia aimed as best she could and hurled it across the chasm towards Jahaan. Unfortunately for the World Guardian, Moia's aim was near flawless, catching him hard at the back of his knee joint. While his armour protected him from any pain, the shock and impact was enough to make Jahaan stumble - he tripped forwards, gravity cruelly catching up to him as he toppled down onto the narrow platform, clutching onto the edges of the walkway for dear life. A small chunk of the platform broke off when he hit the ground. Jahaan watched it fall into the abyss below with a furious heartbeat, his life flashing before his eyes as he realised how close he was to following that debris downwards.

Then he looked up and saw his chance of success being stripped away from him as Zamorak reached the end of the course.

As Zamorak hopped off the course, Sliske emerged from his hiding place, the Stone looming over his hunched frame. With a flourish of his hands, a spell was cast, and Zamorak's entourage - along with all the other gods and their followers - were ejected from the maze. "Bravo, brother! Your little half-breed really did you a solid at the end there."

"Get out of the way, Sliske," Zamorak ordered, striding forwards. "I've beaten your pathetic little game. The Stone is mine."

"Yes, yes," Sliske accepted with a dismissive wave of his hand, stepping out of the way to allow Zamorak an unhindered path to the Stone. "A deal is a deal, and I am a man of my word. The Stone is yours - do with it what you will."

"_Yes, a deal is a deal, my Legatus Maximus,"_ Zaros' voice emerged before he did, Seren teleporting by his side soon after.

Grumbling, Zamorak rolled his eyes and let his shoulders sag. "So fucking close… I thought you'd invoke this here. You want me to give you the Stone, right?"

"As the terms of Vinculum Juris dictate, I request for you to give the Stone to me," Zaros confirmed. Zamorak could have sworn he felt traces of smugness coming from the deity, but he shrugged it off.

"Fair enough. The Stone's yours," Zamorak conceded. "A fair exchange for the salvation of my people."

In all this, Sliske was thoroughly taken aback. "But… but how are you two here? You should have been cast out of the labyrinth when Zamorak reached the Stone."

"You are not as powerful as you think you are, Sliske," Seren stated with unwavering conviction. "We are beyond your tricks."

"But she said…" Sliske shook his head in bafflement, trying to blink the pieces into place. "It doesn't matter. The game is over. The Stone now belongs to Zamorak."

"You cannot do this Sliske," Seren maintained, forcefully. "You know that any god being in possession of the Stone would be an act of war. It would plunge the universe into chaos."

"Well, it's rather fitting Zamorak has the Stone then, isn't it?"

"But a _war_, Sliske," Seren emphasised. "It would wake _them_. You must know that the elder gods sleep below us and you know what will happen if they wake!"

"Did it ever occur to you that perhaps they had a part in all of this?" Sliske insinuated, causing even Zaros to falter.

This time though, it was Zamorak's turn to pipe up, "You're saying we're supposed to believe all your bullshit was the will of the elder gods? Yeah, sure thing, you mad bastard."

"Jas…" Jahaan gasped, having stayed quiet in the background until now, listening intently. With encouragement from Seren, Jahaan continued, "That orb in your study, I touched it, and my head was filled with a vision…" with wide-eyes of realisation, Jahaan looked up at Sliske. "You were talking to Jas, weren't you? She was the one who showed you how to get the Stone, and how to use it to strip the gods of their powers."

"Ding ding!" Sliske clapped his hands sharply together. "Congratulations, Janny. Of all of them to figure it out, I'm surprised it was you, but I'm impressed nonetheless."

The cogs in Zaros' mind were grinding with indignation. "You… had an audience with the most powerful being in the universe. You have been her agent. Why _you?_"

"Perhaps she was drawn to my magnetic personality?" Sliske grinned, unable to resist the tease. He recovered quickly though, continuing, "I don't know why she chose me, but she did. We came to a mutually beneficial relationship. She gave me the power and knowledge I needed, and in return, I brought her the gods."

Seren blinked. "You… brought her the gods?"

Sliske's lip curled upwards slightly at one side. "Indeed. You intrigued her. She wished to study you, and I told her I could provide the means for that research."

Jahaan angrily countered, "So what was all this bullshit about trying to steal my soul?"

Raising an eyebrow, Sliske replied, "You think I'm incapable of having two plans on the go? Now, my work for Jas is done, and the Stone is of no further use to me. The Staff, on the other hand..."

Sliske summoned the Staff of Armadyl to his hands, shooting Jahaan an intense look that made the World Guardian physically recoil. "I have one last use for."

Suddenly, a haunting screech pierced the air. Soon after, Kerapac teleported into the clearing, adopting a proud and defiant stance that challenged all the gods before him.

"You should not be able to be here!" Sliske hissed, feeling the card house he had built start to wobble. "The Stone's power should have cast you out!"

Kerapac stretched his jaw, showing off the fearsome set of fangs he housed inside. "Ignorant vosk. The Stone is our tether; you cannot keep us from it!"

Stalking forward, Kerapac's shoulders raised and sagged with heavy, seething breaths. "You bicker over the Catalyst like a toy or trophy, but I know it for what it is. It is the whip that cuts our flesh. It is the collar that chokes us. It is the enslavement of my people!"

From out of his robe, Kerapac brought out an ancient-looking mirror with a plated gold frame - the Elder Mirror.

Holding it aloft and pointing it at the Stone of Jas, he screamed, "WE WILL NO LONGER BE SLAVES!"

Suddenly, sparks started to fly out of the mirror, attaching themselves to the Stone with a sickening crackle of pure elder energy. The cavern started to shake violently, rocks detaching from the ceiling and crashing down to the ground, shattering on impact. The Stone itself was fizzing and whirling, breaking apart with a furious anger that thrummed and pounded as the earth shaked and quivered.

Zaros and Seren gasped, eyes transfixed on the beam of energy that threatened to tear the walls down around them. They knew that Kerapac was channeling the anima mundi from around the Heart of Gielinor straight into the Elder Mirror. The anima mundi was then duplicated infinitely as it was redirected back into the Stone of Jas, overwhelming the precious elder artefact.

They also knew that the damage had been done, and that they needed to escape. Thus, they teleported out of the cavern and left the Stone to its fate.

Seeing their swift exit, Zamorak was smart enough to follow suit closely after.

Jahaan saw that Sliske was looking at similar moves to escape, but was damned if he was going to let him get away that easily.

"NO!" Jahaan screamed, launching himself at Sliske and tackling him to the ground. Once he'd grabbed onto the Mahjarrat, he managed to transport them both into the Shadow Realm, praying that being in a separate realm of existence from the Stone of Jas might protect them somehow. Fortunately, he'd caught Sliske off-guard enough to accomplish this and the two tumbled into the Shadow Realm.

Wasting no time, Jahaan dragged Sliske to his feet by his robe and started to pull him into a sprint. "RUN!"

Instinct taking over, Sliske complied. He and the World Guardian ran as fast as possible away from the Stone of Jas, leaping behind a downed statue just as the blast hit.

The aftershock of the blast had knocked Jahaan from the Shadow Realm - that much he felt from the difference in the air, sucking in a lungful of dust and debris that threatened to choke him to death. When the light faded and the ringing in his ears subsided enough to take stock, Jahaan dared to peer over the pillar and survey the destruction.

The Stone was no more - that was the first thing that captured his attention. Only a shattered plinth remained, fragments of the Stone's surface thrown around the remnants of the cavern, piling against the walls.

Squinting, Jahaan thought he could see Kerapac's body through the smoke and haze. If he remained so close to the Stone for that blast, there was no way he could have survived.

Hearing Sliske stirring beside him, Jahaan wasted no time, swinging back around and catching the Mahjarrat's temple with his elbow.

Grunting, Sliske dodged the next attack by teleporting out into the middle of the ruined cavern, stumbling upon his landing. Clutching the side of his head, he growled, "You really are giving me mixed messages here, World Guardian."

Getting back up to his feet, Jahaan drew both of his swords and declared, "This ends tonight, Sliske."

Sliske laughed. "Even the World Guardian isn't above a good cliche, I see. But you should have escaped with the others, Jahaan. Now…" he summoned the Staff of Armadyl back to his gloves hands. "Now I shall collect what I am owed. Wights!"

Raising the Staff aloft, Sliske brought forth the six Barrows Brothers to his aid, the wights that had once fought alongside Jahaan at the Mahjarrat Ritual now stood opposing him. The six against one advantage did not swing in Jahaan's favour. Thankfully, Sliske seemed like he was going to sit back and enjoy the show, so Jahaan had more breathing room to deal with these undead foes first.

"Debilitate him," Sliske commanded. "I need him alive for the transfer."

Upon the order, the Brothers started to advance on Jahaan.

The good thing about the wights was that - unless specifically commanded - they did not run, thus they could be out maneuvered fairly easily if Jahaan kept on his feet.

With Sliske's order to debilitate him, not kill him, the World Guardian felt a little more confident about his chances. Still, these wights could make a mistake and take his head off, if he wasn't careful enough. With that in mind, Karil had to be taken out first. If a stray bolt caught Jahaan in the side of his head, it was lights out for good.

Sheathing his swords, Jahaan ran to the other side of the chamber and ducked behind a pile of debris to summon up his first spell, a simple air blast. Jahaan wanted to save his ancient magick spells for Sliske - an unwelcome surprise for the Mahjarrat.

Peeking over, he locked sight of Karil, making sure to pick him out from the cluster of brothers. As he did, two bolts whirled over his head, slightly too close for comfort. Crouching back down, Jahaan readied the spell. Once he'd gathered enough energy, he peered back over and shot the barrage at Karil, catching him square in the chest.

Of course, that wasn't enough to kill him, but it was a start.

The Brothers were gaining on him now, forcing Jahaan to relocate behind a broken statue, dodging Ahrim's magic attacks as he did. When the World Guardian edged out of cover to survey his next move, a bolt caught the side of Jahaan's arm, ricocheting off the sturdy elder rune protection.

That's when he saw Kerapac's body lying close to him, and an idea came to mind.

Jahaan knew he could tank a few of Ahrim's attacks - the armour managed to survive one of Zemouregal's spells, so it could take whatever the wight threw at him.

What Jahaan needed to do was catch Karil as he was reloading. About seven more shots, if he counted correctly. To do that, he needed to use himself as bait, but he'd need a shield if this was going to work properly, something to protect his head. Unfortunately, Jahaan hadn't come equipped with one, but the armour Kerapac was wearing would do the trick nicely. Quickly, Jahaan hopped out from behind cover, praying Karil wouldn't get lucky this time, and dragged the corpse back behind the pillar with him. Swiftly, he removed Kerapac's armour, held it to the side of his head, and hoped this wasn't a mistake.

Running out from cover, Jahaan sprinted across the chamber towards the opposite corner, and not a moment too soon as the Brother's were almost on top of him at this point. Ahrim got a few good strikes in, slowing Jahaan down a touch as he absorbed the impact, but nothing too wounding. As soon as Jahaan saw the first bolt shoot past him, he began readying a spell, and counted.

Another bolt, and another. Jahaan didn't know how much longer he could keep up this cat and mouse strategy before something gave out, but knowing it was the best strategy he had so far, Jahaan held out for as long as possible.

Another bolt, this time catching the edge of his leg armour. Another one, just missing his arm.

Just one more left…

As soon as Jahaan heard that last bolt whiz by, he dropped the make-shift shield and fired a relentless barrage attack against Karil. Fortunately, it paid off, the wight collapsing to the ground and disappearing in a dust cloud.

"Hahaha! Congratulations, Janny!" Sliske announced with a sharp clap. "One down, five to go."

Ahrim was more of an annoyance than a threat, but there was a risk that his strikes would gradually degrade Jahaan's armour, making it more vulnerable in the process. So, Jahaan decided to take him out of the equation next. Dashing straight for him, Jahaan tanked a handful of magic spells, managed to weave out of the way of the melee-attacking Brothers, and unsheathed his sword seconds before he plunged the blade straight through Ahrim's heart. The Brother crumbled to dust the second Jahaan removed his sword, freeing the blade just in time to block an attack from Guthan's spear.

The hardest part was needing to separate the Brothers; Jahaan knew he couldn't fight four wights at once. Even the greatest swordsman in the land would have had a hard time, considering the Barrows Brothers were incredibly strong and proficient warriors, even in their undead states. While wights were slower on the uptake than their living counterparts, they made up for it with durability - you cut a man's arm off, it'll give him pause, but do it to a wight, he won't even notice.

So, Jahaan took to sending targeted air strikes at their feet and ankles. There was no sense bombarding them in the stomach or chest. Jahaan knew he wouldn't be able to cast powerfully enough or quickly enough to do any lasting damage. But by targeting the legs, it slowed them down further, sometimes causing them to clatter to the ground. With this careful strategy, Jahaan gradually separated the Brothers out into something much more manageable to deal with.

And all the while, Sliske observed the battle like a hawk watching its prey. But if Jahaan squinted enough, he noticed that Sliske's face looked thinner.

_Of course! He didn't attend the Ritual, and without the Stone supplementing his life force…_

Jahaan didn't let himself get too excited - Sliske at his weakest was still stronger than Jahaan could ever be. But anything to slightly level the playing field was a godsend.

Verac's attacks were fast and fairly accurate. The only slight weakness was when he had to pull the flail back around after each swing, but even this barely took any time at all. Sometimes he would even incorporate it into an attack, relentlessly gaining on Jahaan as he forced the World Guardian to hop backwards to avoid being hit. Jahaan knew enough about flails to know that they bested swords almost every time. You can't block an attack from a flail head on, and if the chain wraps itself around the sword, you'd find yourself disarmed more often than not, having the blades wrenched out of your grasp.

So, Jahaan let Verac advance on him, trying to identify a pattern in his movements to calculate the best time to counter. But while this worked for the first few attacks, Jahaan unfortunately misjudged the distance during one strike.

When the flail swung forwards, the mace slashed towards the side of Jahaan's head. He turned as much as he could, folding himself over to avoid the impact, but one of the spikes caught the skin against Jahaan's temple.

As blood gushed from the wound, Jahaan started regretting not wearing a helmet. It was a risk, leaving your head exposed like that, but Jahaan had never managed to get along with them. His vision would be partially obscured, and distance couldn't be judged, so he couldn't fight half as well while wearing one. But the downside of that, of course, was leaving the most fragile and vulnerable piece of the body as a big, shiny target.

In Jahaan's dazed state, he could have sworn he heard the scolding voice of Sliske reiterate that the World Guardian was to be taken alive, not dead.

Scrambling to get away from Verac, Jahaan moved his attention to Torag, who was quickly gaining on him. Unfortunately, the blow to his head had knocked him for six and he wasn't able to dodge Torag's attack in time. Jahaan stumbled backwards and fell to the ground as one of the hammers knocked him square in the chest. Coughing furiously, the winded World Guardian gasped for air, just managing to roll out of the way as he saw the other hammer set to smash down onto his torso. After Sliske's assault, Jahaan knew his ribs were always going to be a weakness, but thankfully they didn't feel broken or shattered.

Once he got to his feet and recuperated enough to see without blurred vision, Jahaan realised Dharok was also upon him, alongside Torag. The simultaneous attack from one of Torag's hammers and Dharok's greataxe was blocked by each of Jahaan's swords, but it was a strain, especially in his weakened left arm. Slipping to the side, Jahaan used Dharok's own strength and momentum against him, forcing him to stumble forwards. At the same time, Jahaan swung his second sword around, aiming for the unarmoured flesh around Torag's elbow.

The sickening squelch as the blade sliced through undead flesh signalled he'd hit the target, followed by the dull thump of a hammer clattering to the floor, Torag's severed hand still firmly wrapped around the handle.

Jumping backwards, Jahaan sought to gain some distance from the reoriented Dharok and the one-armed Torag, who didn't even notice he was now missing a limb.

Sheathing his swords, Jahaan conjured up another series of air spells. The Brothers had congregated together again, threatening to overwhelm the World Guardian with their offence. Targeting the legs was a fairly easy way to slow them down, and Jahaan's accuracy was pretty decent. Practice had really paid off, allowing Jahaan to hit the mark nine times out of ten. In fact, Jahaan got exceedingly lucky when aiming an air blast at Verac's leg, missing the shin but catching him in the kneecap, shattering part of the join off. Verac tumbled to the ground and didn't seem to be able to get back up again, much to Jahaan's delight. As the World Guardian had found out personally, Verac's flail was a huge threat. Now, that particular Brother could be easily culled at any time.

Now that the Brother's had been effectively separated, Jahaan went to challenge Guthan first, nimbly dodging out of the way as the Brother tried to pierce the spearhead through his armoured stomach. As Jahaan went to counter, Guthan braced the spear to block the double strike from Jahaan's swords, but instead of stopping the attack, Jahaan's blades cut straight through the wooden shaft of the spear. The action surprised Jahaan a lot more than it did the wight, but the World Guardian recovered his wits quick enough to capitalise, pushing Guthan back with a kick to his gut and then finishing him off with a decapitating strike.

Dharok and Jahaan parried for a while, the Brother being rather quick with his reflexes, despite having such a large weapon. Jahaan knew to not give him enough room to properly swing the axe, keeping in close quarters with the Brother to restrict his movement. It paid off before long; learning from his fight with Guthan, Jahaan cut the greataxe's handle in two before stabbing Dharok through the heart, the Brother's armour no match against the razor-sharp elder rune blades.

The one-armed Torag wasn't too great of a struggle either - it didn't take much to outmaneuver him and take off his second arm, leaving him vulnerable to decapitation.

Panting for breath, Jahaan sheathed one of his swords, feeling the sweat pooling up in his gloves. He wiped away the beads coating his forehead.

Looking up at Sliske, he ambled over to Verac and drove the blade through the top of the crawling wight's skull. "Now can we finish this?"

A sneer tugged at the corner of Sliske's thin lips. "Not bad, World Guardian. I dare say I'm impressed. But I'm afraid I have one more ace up my sleeve…"

With a wave of the Mahjarrat's hand, a cloud of smoke and shadow manifested in the centre of the chamber.

When it receded, Ozan was standing there.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	52. Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame (Ch6)

**Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame**

**Chapter 6 - Dare to Die**

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske's games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat's design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske's madness once and for all...

* * *

His green eyes no longer shone emerald. Instead, they were sunk into their sockets, white and lifeless.

_This was not Ozan._

His hair was a tangled mess, not the perfectly layered quiff and bangs that usually framed his handsome face.

_This was not Ozan._

He carried himself like a broken puppet on a string, not with the suave bravado and swagger he was famous for.

_This was NOT Ozan!_

But even if this figure standing before Jahaan wasn't Ozan, it broke his heart all the same.

He wanted to call out to his friend, to beg him to remember who he once was, that he's not just a thrall of Sliske's… but he knew it was hopeless. Wights couldn't be reasoned with, and Jahaan knew Sliske would get some perverse pleasure out of watching him hopelessly beg for his friend's sanity. But Jahaan couldn't help but gormlessly stand there, heart pounding in his throat and threatening to jump out of his mouth.

Sliske knew his nightmares, and this was one of them.

Mercifully, Jahaan regained enough composure to register Ozan readying his bow and arrow, managing to start running out of the way just before the arrow would have careened into him. A bow and arrow was far superior in accuracy and power compared to Karil's crossbow, especially in Ozan's hands. He was one of Gielinor's finest archers, and even as a wight, his prowess would be second to none.

Fortunately, even Ozan's arrows weren't strong enough to penetrate Jahaan's armour, but they packed a punch. As he was running from one point of cover to another, Jahaan felt one slam into his side, the arrow shaft splintering on the impact. Perhaps the shock was worse than the pain, but it wasn't an experience he cared to repeat.

Ozan was positioned by the remnants of the Stone of Jas, the crumbled remains of the universe's most powerful artefact. And as the next arrow whizzed by him, an idea clicked into Jahaan's mind.

When wights are bested in combat, they don't die, for they're already stuck in a perpetual state of 'undeath'. Instead, they rejuvenate, ready to be summoned again. How long this rejuvenation process takes depends on the prowess of the summoner, but for someone as powerful as Sliske, the wights could be back at full strength within a couple of hours. If the summoner died while the wights were rejuvenating, the souls of the wights would be released to the afterlife - only then would they finally 'die'. Most likely, the same thing would happen if wights were active when their master perished. But a small part of Jahaan wondered… if he killed Sliske while Ozan was summoned, would the Mahjarrat's control over him be broken? Would he be free?

It seemed like a long shot; Jahaan wished he'd asked Icthlarin more questions on the matter. But even if there was the slimmest of chances he could save some part of Ozan, he was going to try.

So, instead of working to destroy Ozan's wight form, Jahaan tried to impair him, to render him immobile for the rest of the battle.

Kerapac's armour was dropped a little ways across the cavern, and Jahaan wanted to reach it before heading towards Ozan, just to give his head some protection in case an arrow accidentally targeted his skull instead of his protected chestplate. Sliske must have known that Ozan's bow and arrow was not enough to physically debilitate him. But battles fought against the mind could leave greater scars than any carved on the body. When it came to battles against the mind, Sliske could be considered a warmaster. The Mahjarrat was smart. Twisted, malicious, but smart.

So Jahaan tried to pretend the man attacking him wasn't the warped shell of his oldest and closest companion. Alas, it didn't work that easily, but he kept trying. Jahaan found small comfort in the knowledge that he would soon channel all the rage, all the sorrow and all the grief that Sliske had caused him, and use it to beat the teeth out of Sliske's skull.

Fortunately, no arrows were embedded in his head by the time he made it to Kerepac's armour. Standing side-on to Ozan, Jahaan held the armour-plate tight against his head and edged closer to the wight, only peering out briefly to make sure he was walking on target. Naturally, this slow and straight movement made him easy pickings for Ozan's arrows. Jahaan prayed that his armour would hold up.

The first arrow connected underneath his rib, arrow splitting in two with each end flying in a different direction. The second bounced off in similar fashion. At this rate, Jahaan realised the greatest danger was the unpredictable direction the arrowheads would fly in.

When Jahaan got too close, Ozan started to back away, edging even closer towards the Stone. Arrows that caught Jahaan at this distance packed a severe punch. One winded him as it crashed into the middle of his ribs. Groaning, Jahaan slipped one of his swords out of its sheath and kept on going, tanking another arrow hit.

Peering out from the side of his make-shift shield, Jahaan saw Ozan knock into the debris pile of the Stone behind him, staggering backwards slightly as the wight worked to regain his footing.

That was when Jahaan struck, a precise slash of his sword that cut the longbow in half. Using the wight's confusion to his advantage, Jahaan dropped his sword and shield in quick succession, then launched himself at Ozan, a fierce knock to the side of his head making the wight stumble backwards and trip over the Stone fragments. With Ozan on the ground now, Jahaan capitalised on his crude plan to incapacitate the wight.

_I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry…_

Jahaan tried not to feel bad, reminding himself over and over that wights do not feel pain, that they do not suffer, regardless of what injury is inflicted upon them. Still, as he smashed the rock down on Ozan's ankle, Jahaan himself let out a hoarse cry, but he masked it in a whimper.

_I just want to help… I'm sorry..._

He couldn't look Ozan in the eye. Undead wight or not, this was his friend he was hurting, and the sickening crunch of the shattered bone made Jahaan feel sick. But since the World Guardian wanted to disable the wight, not kill him, this was the only thing that came to mind.

Ozan made no protest, only swinging his arms in weak defiance, just like a zombie would. Before Ozan could shuffle himself into a crawl, Jahaan began piling debris from all around the Stone onto Ozan's legs, effectively trapping him there. It was a long shot, and a desperate one at that, but if he could just say put, if he could remain in this realm...

When the last piece was in place, Jahaan moved to the side, tentatively examining what Ozan would do. The wight tried to shift, twisting to face Jahaan, but it couldn't find enough purchase to lift the debris from the lower half of its body.

Suddenly, a bolt of energy connected against Jahaan, forcing his back to arc in anguish. The jolts of arcane magic caused his entire body to spasm. When the stream of shadow energy ceased, Jahaan collapsed to the ground, twitching and panting from the aftershock.

"Honestly," Sliske grumbled, teleporting down from his high perch and into the chamber-turned-battleground. "If you want something done right, do it yourself…"

Jahaan forced his head to the side, to look at the debilitated form of Ozan, and watched with gut-wrenching dismay as Sliske caused the wight to vanish with a wave of his hand.

The plan to try and save Ozan had failed. That hurt more than Sliske's attack.

"You know, you're really starting to irk me, World Guardian."

Jahaan heard heavy footsteps move towards him, then a firm boot stomping on his back, forcing his face to smash against the ground.

"Come on, get up," Sliske's voice had the remnants of a growl lodged in his throat. "You risked both our necks to start a fight, so let's get on with it."

Groaning, Jahaan went to prop himself up, but it was a struggle. In his peripheral vision, he saw Sliske lean towards him again - and that's when he struck.

Whipping around quickly, Jahaan threw a blinding smoke spell into Sliske's eyes, causing the Mahjarrat to cough and choke. Using the distraction, Jahaan scrambled to his feet and gained some distance from the Mahjarrat, readying a smoke barrage to capitalise.

The spell connected, knocking Sliske back a pace. Growling, he teleported to the other side of the chasm before Jahaan's next spell could strike him, countering with a wave of shadow magic.

Sliske's attack hit dead on, forcing the World Guardian to the ground, but he recovered quickly.

"I see you've been dabbling in some of the _darker arts_," Sliske sneered, shadows dancing and curling around the base of their master. "Good. I was hoping for some semblance of a challenge."

Finally, the battle commenced in earnest.

Jahaan weaved and ducked out of the way of oncoming fire, tanking the odd hits he couldn't quite slip out of the way from. Fortunately, his armour held up well. Memories of fighting Zemouregal told him he couldn't rely on absorbing every hit - his ribs were a weakness to him as it was. But he could take enough without too much pain or damage. It was very reassuring, being enveloped in such strong armour.

In return, he fired back when he had the chance, smoke and blood barrage spells slipping easily from his gloved palms. He could feel the burning heat against the skin of his hands, thankful that the material his gloves were made out of provided the wearer with some form of spellcaster's protection. Many people preferred fighting with a wand or staff for greater accuracy, avoiding the scorched palms in the process. Not Jahaan. To him, staves were cumbersome and wands were flimsy. Learning to palm-cast was harder, but it was much more useful for someone who predominantly fought with melee items.

Besides, it was much more satisfying to watch Sliske feel the pain from a spell summoned from Jahaan's own hands.

"I still haven't forgiven you for what you did to me," the Mahjarrat hissed, blocking a smoke spell with a shadow-esque shield.

"What I did to you?!" Jahaan spluttered, indignantly. "You nearly beat me to death! You killed my best friend!"

"You broke your promise," Sliske countered, coldly. "You gave me your word, and you betrayed me."

Shadow hands emerged from the ground, clawing at Jahaan. While he kicked one of them away, another grabbed so tightly onto his left arm that it threatened to crush the armour. As quick as he could, Jahaan unsheathed a sword and hacked through the arm clutching at him, dashing away from the remaining ethereal limbs.

"You're delusional, Sliske," Jahaan couldn't even put enough venomous emotion into the statement. There was no sense in arguing with someone so lost in their own fables.

Then again, Sliske felt the exact same way.

Sliske's attacks were wild and vicious, and he had no problem in hitting Jahaan when he was down. Arcane energy in the form of lightning strikes would crash down from above, hitting the ground around Jahaan's feet, causing it to crumble and quake. The World Guardian would fall to the floor, greeted half a second later by a thunderous blitz of shadow magic against his downed frame.

Jahaan predicted that, with each spell and attack Sliske summoned, he was rapidly drawing away from his life force. Without the Stone's power, and without his energy having been rejuvenated in the last Ritual, Sliske was running on empty. In a way, Jahaan thought it best to prolong this fight as long as possible, to force Sliske into wilder and more powerful spells that would sap his energy. This would weaken him quicker. However, this was a double-edged sword, for stamina worked both ways - the longer the fight lasted, the more likely Jahaan was to make a mistake, one that Sliske could capitalise upon to fatal ends.

Occasionally, a handful of unstable wights would be conjured and sent to attack Jahaan. These were easy to kill, slow and unresponsive, and served as a distraction more than anything so that Sliske could exploit the situation. Usually Jahaan would find himself tangling with a wight, only to be struck across the side by a bolt of shadow energy.

These wights didn't seem to be as robust as the Brothers - far from it. Sometimes they would explode before even reaching Jahaan. Occasionally they would explode just before Jahaan could kill them, sending out scolding particles of arcane energy. If he was unfortunate, these particles would singe Jahaan's face, already adding to the collection of burn marks he was sporting.

Jahaan didn't think this was all that intentional, but instead a by-product of Sliske's rapidly draining power, making him unwilling to part with large chunks of energy in order to fuel an army of strong wights. The Barrows Brothers alone must have drained him considerably. Perhaps he was grasping at the severity of his situation?

Looking carefully, one could notice how sunken Sliske's eyes had become, receding back into their hollow sockets. His grey skin was tighter against his chin, clawing away from him and fraying at the edges. In some places, where the flesh was closer to the bone, it had peeled away completely, showing the animated corpse beneath. His breathing was shorter now, tighter, as if he was inhaling through a thicker, unfamiliar atmosphere with untested lungs.

It seemed as if Sliske was growing aware of this himself. Gazing down at his hand, the Mahjarrat removed a glove and felt his heart sink at the confirmation. The cracking sound as his skinless fingers clenched into a fist only served to make Sliske even angrier, and he took it out on Jahaan.

Fortunately for Jahaan, the more heated Sliske seemed to get, the less accurate his attacks were. More and more, the World Guardian could counter one of the Mahjarrat's spells with an attack of his own. Smoke and blood spells connected against Sliske with increased power and precision.

Occasionally the fight was brought to the Shadow Realm, usually by Sliske, but Jahaan would chase him there, refusing to give him enough respite to calculate his offence. But even without entering the Realm, Jahaan could trace Sliske's movements inside of it, tracking where he would emerge.

"I'm really regretting my choice of gift," Sliske chided as Jahaan pursued the Mahjarrat into the Shadow Realm once more.

More shadow hands reached for Jahaan, their translucency a trap as they would cling onto their prey tighter than any mortal arms. Thankfully, Jahaan evaded them this time.

With a hoarse groan, a smoke barrage collided with Sliske at full force, causing him to double over and clutch at his stomach. Ragged breaths slipped past clenched teeth, tight and laboured. By now, Sliske's eyes seemed far too big for his face, as if his skull had shrunk. Flesh hung loosely from his gaunt, jutting bones. In the patches where it hadn't receded completely, his skin was like paper.

Unfortunately, the effects of the battle had been taking their toll on Jahaan too. He couldn't think how long the two had been duelling, but the exhaustion was really starting to kick in now. Underneath his armour he could feel the swelling and tenderness of bruises starting to form. Sweat poured down his forehead, coating his black locks and sticking them to his cheeks. He flicked his head to one side, trying to detach them from his skin.

More than anything, Jahaan didn't want Sliske to know that the fatigue was getting to him. Knowledge like that could give Sliske a confidence boost, one that could work severely against the World Guardian.

Still, he needed a few minutes to catch his breath and compose himself, even if such respite gave Sliske a breather in the process. Without it, Jahaan feared he would collapse. Adrenaline can only take a man so far.

The last thing Jahaan wanted to hear was Sliske's honeyed voice grating against his eardrums, but if it provided some respite to his attacks, then he'd suffer it.

"So come on," Jahaan huffed, wiping his brow with a gloved hand. "Seeing as we're near the end of all this, you can tell me the truth now."  
Sliske's stance was guarded, but he seemed to be in favour of their unspoken time-out, deciding against conjuring another attack. "The truth about what?"

"About why you wanted _my_ soul," Jahaan replied, resting his hands on the hilts of his swords. "You've met thousands of people across hundreds of lifetimes - surely you could have used any one of them to get a soul!"

"Don't you think I tried?" Sliske barked back. "Hundreds upon hundreds of failed experiments! I tried everything, got lost in my research, but none of them were compatible with me… but you would know all about that, wouldn't you, you prying little World Guardian. Even when I had the Staff, nothing would take."

"And so you took the word of a madman to come after me? All because he plucked my name out of thin air?"

"You don't believe much in destiny, do you?" Sliske chided. "It's such a romantic concept. I knew - all the way back then, I _knew_ \- that if I were to acquire a soul, it would be yours. You're… _special_. Always have been."

Jahaan didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he decided to end their little respite before Sliske could dive into a vexing soliloquy. There was only so much the World Guardian could take. Fortunately, the Mahjarrat didn't react in time and took the full brunt of a smoke barrage. The spell caught onto the fabric of his robe beneath his chin, incinerating a small portion of it and burning the flesh below. Seeing the opportunity, Jahaan channeled a delicate and precise blood spell, one that targeted the blood seeping from Sliske's wound. Soon, the ink-like substance that came from the wound was under Jahaan's control. The World Guardian pulled the blood out like it was a weed. Thin and sticky vines defied gravity as they were wrenched out of the Mahjarrat's body.

Roaring in anguish, Sliske forcefully pressed a palm to the wound, desperate to stop the essence being dragged from his body. Realising the effort was for nought, he fired a wild spell in Jahaan's direction, missing the mark but close enough to get Jahaan to break his concentration on the spell.

Sliske stumbled, hunching slightly as he panted for breath, the heat of his palm trying to nurse the wound. Baring his teeth, seething eyes glared daggers at Jahaan. "Did Azzy teach you that one?"

Jahaan's lips curled with a tinge of cruelty.

Sliske fought back with increased venom, a wave of shadow magic storming across the chasm and crashing into Jahaan. The World Guardian tumbled to the ground, rolling at speed into a pile of debris. Once the world stopped spinning, Jahaan became aware of an acute pain in his jaw and the unmistakable taste of iron in his mouth. When he spat out, blood came with it, alongside a fragment of tooth.

Groaning, Jahaan tried to pull himself to his feet, but a blast of shadow energy put paid to that. In fact, several more bolts connected with him as Jahaan desperately tried to crawl behind a downed pillar for cover.

Gasping for breath, Jahaan tried to reorient himself and prepare to counter. But by the gods, was his back killing him. That last onslaught had really done a number on his already aching muscles. But for what it was worth, that last onslaught had also taken its toll on Sliske.

"You just wanted to make me one of your thralls!" Jahaan called out from behind cover, stretching out the kinks in his back, trying to shake off the pain in his aching muscles. "You pretended to care about me, but you were just using me all this time. So don't get pissed just because I used you. It's a two-way street."

Jahaan flinched as a bolt of arcane energy careened into the remnants of the pillar, shattering his stone cover.

"I would have given you eternal life," Sliske's voice was low and ever so slightly shaky. "I would have given you power, a place in this world. You would have had purpose. I would have let you keep your free will."

"Until you got bored," Jahaan countered. "And stripped that away from me with a click of your fingers."

Sliske shook his head lightly. "Not you. I would never have done that to you."

The worst part was that, despite everything, a part of Jahaan believed Sliske. The Mahjarrat was a master of manipulating emotions, and Jahaan had to remind himself that's exactly what this was - a manipulation. Sliske was trying to get under his skin to throw him off balance, nothing more.

_Nothing more?_

Shaking the cobwebs from his mind, Jahaan readied himself and dashed out from behind cover, a forceful retaliation of spells at his fingertips.

Sliske tried to keep up, but he was weak, weaker than he'd ever felt before. Five hundred years pass between each Ritual, and yet even after all that time he'd still have enough in the tank to fight to the death beside the Marker.

The words of his half brother began to repeat inside his mind, '_And what would happen if all your plans fell apart and you were finally cornered?'_

In his arrogance, he had shrugged off his brother's concerns. There was always another plan, after all.

He'd have to think fast, have to calculate his next move. Was escaping even an option? Jahaan had stopped him last time and he could again. But regardless of that, Sliske didn't want to run away this time. What was the use? The state he was in, he could wither and die all alone before he came up with a solution to rejuvenate himself.

He just had to think. While there was still hope for his plans to succeed, he would keep trying.

He still had the Staff. He still had a chance.

This was not over yet. Far from it.

At least, that was what Sliske thought...

Before long, Sliske's spells became weaker and harder to cast, the strain on each one hurting himself more than the spell's target. All the while, his brain racked for a way to turn the tables in his favour, to get the soul he needed now more than ever. If he was to die in this world, that soul was his only chance of living on in the next.

With the Staff, the Siphon, there was a way. Jahaan just needed to be debilitated as the extraction was a delicate process.

But Jahaan was fighting with more vigor now - perhaps he could sense Sliske's withering and desperation? Perhaps it was spurring him on, giving him enough adrenaline to counter each of Sliske's attacks with a thunderous rebuttal.

The World Guardian was gaining on him, closing the gap between them. Each hit Jahaan tanked didn't slow him down as much as Sliske needed, and it didn't deter him from pushing onwards. Sliske tried to hold his ground, but the more powerful attacks winded him, causing him to cough and splutter up mouthfuls of acidic bile. The next bolt of blood magic smashed into his gut, causing the Mahjarrat to double over, now finding blood dripping out from between his teeth and pooling in the black of his throat.

He didn't notice Jahaan slip the dagger out of its sheath until it was far too late.

Jahaan leapt into the air, runite dagger held high. The sharp tip of the blade was angled towards the top of Sliske's skull. Starved for reaction time, all the Mahjarrat's instincts allowed him to do was to bring his right arm up to intercept the dagger's path.

The dagger embedded itself in the lower part of Sliske's right forearm. A sickening squelch would have normally been expected, but there was not enough flesh to garner such a noise. Instead, it was worse - a nauseating snapping sound as the blade tore through weakened muscles, then followed by the dull, heavy knock against bone. The crushing force of the hilt smashing against Sliske's increasingly frail arms caused a large chunk of bone to shatter in the Mahjarrat's arm. At the same time, the hilt of Jahaan's dagger cracked and the blade dislodged from its perch inside the handle.

Howling in agony, Sliske tried to summon a spell to fend off Jahaan, but the act made him lightheaded. This time though, the World Guardian didn't capitalise, instead watching numbly as Sliske staggered back into the cliff wall behind him. Wheezing and panting, each heavy breath strained to free itself from his throat. The Mahjarrat coughed, bringing forth blood as he did so.

The dagger in his arm had been the final straw. Even though he'd protected himself against the killing blow, Sliske already felt blackness crawling into the corners of his eyes.

Shaking hands clutched onto the wound the dagger had made. He felt the crumbled bone rattle in his arm, a quiet yet deafening sound that made Sliske want to retch. Some fragments had come loose, tumbling out of his sleeve and scattering across the ground like marbles.

And still Jahaan didn't move. He was rendered immobile by the sight before him, struck dumb by the realisation that he had _won_. This was it. It was so nearly _over_.

Everything started to feel unreal, almost hollow. It was a clouding sensation Jahaan couldn't quite grasp, but it refused him the luxury of any prevailing emotion. No elation at victory, no relief that all this madness was nearly at an end. Just… emptiness.

Sliske all but collapsed against the rock behind him, scraping down the jagged edges until solid ground halted his descent. Panting, he gazed up at Jahaan through blurred eyes, trying to end the double vision so he could sharpen the world around him.

"It seems you've got me in a spot of bother," he winced through the words.

Rolling his shoulders and clicking his neck from side to side, Jahaan stretched the stiffness out of his aching muscles. The swords felt like tonne weights in his hands. He held them limply, not having the strength to sheathe them completely. Darkness floated into the edges of his mind, his eyes begging for momentary release, but he fought to keep them open.

His attention was pulled back into reality by the sound of tearing material. Glancing over at Sliske, the Mahjarrat was using the edges of his robes to bind his wound.

"I was a fool to think I could skip a Ritual," he muttered, cringing as he tied the material tighter around his forearm, letting out a strangled cry as he squeezed the wound. After the pain had subsided from blinding to just plain agony, Sliske calmed his ragged breaths and reached around to unhook his shoulder armour. The weight of it suddenly felt unbearable, like gravity had turned malicious and was using the metal to crush him. His molded torso platebody also felt far too constricting - he removed that too, letting it fall to his side. Finally, he could _breathe_.

"I didn't know the drain would be so fast, so intense," Sliske continued, "I thought I would have TIME, time to find a source of energy to tide me over until the next Ritual. How was I to know this would be the last one? That Mah would drain us for all we had? I suppose the Stone really was keeping me afloat. When the Dragonkin destroyed it, the cord was cut, and thus my power, my energy, my… my life is being drained from me, quicker than ever before."

"You're dying," Jahaan surmised, bluntly.

Scoffing, Sliske smiled in surrender. "Always the wordsmith."

The two were silent for a long while. No malicious teasing from Sliske, no foolhardy defiance from the World Guardian. It was tangible, the space between them. Jahaan felt like he could reach out and mould something out of the thick air.

Exhaling deeply, Jahaan nodded to himself, growing in certainty as he did.

Dropping his swords to the ground, Jahaan began the task of unhinging his plate armour.

Seeing this, Sliske offered him a puzzled look. "What are you doing?"

"Making this a fair fight," Jahaan simply replied, removing the last section of his platelegs. He picked up one of his swords and tossed it over to Sliske's feet. "Can you fight with your left?"

Sliske blinked. "Of course. But why?"

"It's simple, really. You're not going to live, but I'm not going to _let _you die. You're going to fight, and I'm going to kill you."

The Mahjarrat's face cracked a thin smile, but the gesture was weak, a pretender, a shadow of its former self. "Would that make you happy, Janny? To drive a blade through my cold heart once and for all?"

Shoulder's sagging, Jahaan sighed in frustration, rubbing his pounding temples with his free hand. "I don't know anymore, Sliske. I just don't know."

After regarding Jahaan carefully for a long, pronounced moment, Sliske took the sword and forced himself to his feet, stumbling slightly as he was painfully reminded of the weight of his own body.

Testing the weight of the sword in his uninjured hand, Sliske said, "If you have a deathwish, I suppose I can oblige. But what do I gain from killing you, hm?"

"Don't kill me - bring me close," Jahaan replied, "Do that, and you can finally get what you've always wanted... you can have my soul."

This made Sliske's eyes light up. "Well, that's an offer I simply cannot refuse. Let's dance."

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	53. Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame (Ch7)

**Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame**

**Chapter 7 - Battle of Souls**

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske's games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat's design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske's madness once and for all...

* * *

At first, the duel consisted of Sliske and Jahaan circling one another, testing out the grip on their swords and feeling out their opponent. The occasional swing would be made, but never in earnest. Instead, it was experimental, almost playful, examining one another's technique and trying to plot any viable weaknesses to exploit.

Their previous anger and hatred seemed to have faded, or at least dulled considerably. For Jahaan, such extremes were far too tiring on his already exhausted mind. To him, their situation was simpler than ever: Sliske was going to die. There was no rush to end the battle, or indeed any incentive to drag it out any longer than it needed to be. Jahaan was content with his decision, and now put his focus towards remaining calm and composed, steady and focused, waiting for the chance to strike.

For Sliske, on the other hand, he was far too concerned to allow volatile emotions to cloud his judgement. This was a precarious situation for him, already weakened and with only one chance left at salvation. He had to play his cards better than ever before. It didn't help that Jahaan was an experienced swordsman, and Sliske hadn't fought with a blade since the Kharidian-Zarosian War back in the Second Age. Still, you never forget how to fight - Mahjarrat especially. He was confident enough in his own ability, but mistakes could always be made.

He just hoped Jahaan made one first.

"Why did Jas choose you?" Jahaan casually asked, focused on the point of his blade as he parried another one of Sliske's lunges. Since the Mahjarrat was going to die, he might as well get all of the answers while he could.

"I do not know for certain," Sliske kept his tone light, not betraying the creeping anxiety he was feeling. "She was interested in the gods, and I was the newest among their ranks. Perhaps that drew her to me."

"So you _did_ ascend?" Jahaan had always expected, subtly assumed, but Sliske had never confirmed it before.

"I don't believe I had any choice in the matter, after killing Guthix and claiming two Elder artefacts as my own," Sliske's stance changed, playing more on the defensive as he explained, "I never particularly cared for the bows and tassels that came from ranking among the divine, but achieving godhood was always part of the plan, and I succeeded. But I was never to stop there. You see, gods suffer the same fate as the Mahjarrat - they live a hundred human lifetimes, but they die eventually, and then they're gone. Gods relinquish their right to a soul, to an afterlife. The Saradominists and Zamorakians get to enjoy the afterlife their god and their faith has created for them, but do you think their gods ever join them in that paradise? It's a pretty raw deal if you ask me. But what if I could achieve something no being in existence has even dared to contemplate? What if I could achieve godhood AND obtain a soul? If I did that… I could create my OWN afterlife. A world where beings were free from the shackles of dogma, where the gods of this universe held no sway."

Jahaan almost felt like laughing at how ludicrous Sliske was sounding. "Yeah, free… except from everyone being under YOUR control. Besides, you creating your own afterlife? Icthlarin would never allow it."

There was an instant where Jahaan took his eye off the target as he absorbed what Sliske was saying, and the Mahjarrat used that to capitalise. The sword sliced through the air, and while it didn't quite hit the mark that Sliske intended, it did succeed in drawing a deep gash across Jahaan's left upper arm.

"Icthlarin is but a small fish in the pond of godhood," Sliske countered, calmly flicking the blood off his blade into a neat splatter pattern on the ground. "He has far less power and reach than you assume."

Jahaan skipped backwards a few paces, trying to ignore the crimson streaming from the wound and the searing pain that came with it. He repositioned himself, checked the grip on his sword. "But if you're a god, why doesn't Guthix' blessing protect me from you?"

"That would be a question for him, rather than me, don't you think?"

Jahaan was not impressed with the non answer. Huffing, Sliske continued, "Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that, when Guthix' blessing was bestowed upon you, I was not a god? Perhaps it was because I was the one that killed him, and that made me the exception to the rule? Or perhaps it simply slipped his mind? Even one of the most powerful gods in existence isn't infallible, as we all well know."

Jahaan licked the edges of his teeth. "Perhaps."

It was the wound on his arm that made Jahaan realise that conversing with Sliske was only going to leave him exposed. The Mahjarrat's words caused him to falter, and he was paying the price in crimson spilling out from the gash in his arm. Thankfully, Sliske didn't pursue that conversation any further, and he didn't try to ignite another one.

Jahaan brought his sword up to block a crushing strike from Sliske. He had stalled the attack, but watched as a wretched, stained grin started to split the Mahjarrat's lips. Jahaan's blade shivered under the brutality of Sliske's compelling strength, the sword threatening to slip from his trembling hands. The World Guardian stumbled back, allowing Sliske's blade to continue in its intended path. Jahaan leaned out of the way as much he could, but there wasn't much he could do in the realms of evasion. Thankfully, the wound he attained wasn't deep at all, but a long, thin slice across his chest. Torn fabric soaked up some of the blood, sticking his shirt to his skin with crimson glue.

Not letting this deter him, Jahaan collected himself as quickly as possible to once again go on the offence. He managed to get a rather clean slash across Sliske's left thigh, though there wasn't enough flesh left to draw blood. Sliske was almost completely skeletal now. Mahjarrat looked far more terrifying in their reverted form, a haunting visage not soon forgotten. But by now, Jahaan had gotten used to it. For him, it meant a weakened Sliske, and a weakened Sliske was an opportunity.

The stagger in Sliske's step left an opening, one that allowed Jahaan's blade to slice across Sliske's left shoulder. The next strike missed, but only by a hair's width, and it pushed the Mahjarrat deeper into the realms of the defensive. Now, the World Guardian's strikes were coming thick and fast, not even allowing Sliske the time to ready his blade enough to block or parry. He was relentless, pushing Sliske backwards and knocking his blade down every time the Mahjarrat went to raise it. The cut to his left shoulder made wielding the blade with any strength or effective technique unmercifully difficult.

The look in Sliske's eyes… it was hollow, a shell of the joviality that would usually dance in them. He was uncharactistically silent, too, lacking jibes and quips. No, Sliske looked more focused than he ever had been…

...and he looked scared.

Finally, Sliske managed to gain enough distance between himself and Jahaan to raise his blade in a proper deflection, but his grip was all wrong, and Jahaan could see it instantly. No doubt Sliske did too, but by then it was far too late.

The sword flew from Sliske's hand and he stumbled backwards, retreating away from Jahaan's blade before falling to the ground. Then, a flash of light; Jahaan realised that Sliske had blocked a killing blow with the shaft of the Staff of Armadyl.

_Of course he wasn't going to play fair,_ Jahaan scolded internally, having forgotten that the Staff was still at Sliske's disposal. Though the momentary wideness of his eyes betrayed his surprise, it didn't deter him for long, and he pressed down with all his weight onto Sliske. The Staff could not be cut through, however - whatever material the shaft was made from, it easily withstood the onslaught of elder rune blades.

Despite having only one working arm, the Mahjarrat was unfairly strong, gaining enough leverage to push Jahaan far enough to the side to roll out of the way and back to his feet. Shifting his grip on the Staff, Sliske swung it like a club, trying to regain some lost ground.

But it was in vain. Jahaan clipped Sliske's already wounded arm with the edge of his blade, and Sliske cried out, just about refraining from clutching the gash in a desperate attempt to keep in control. Seeing an opening, Jahaan followed up with a lunge to Sliske's stomach, but his opponent dodged out of the way just in time to avoid being skewered.

Then, Sliske pounced.

As Jahaan's arm was outstretched, Sliske used the side of the Staff to knock Jahaan's wrist to the side, causing his sword to fall past the balance line.

The opening was there.

Sliske slipped low, underneath the shadow of Jahaan's blade. He swiftly readjusted his grip on the Staff, narrowed his eyes, lunged forwards and-

...by the time Jahaan knew what was happening, it was too late.

The bottom end of the Staff was embedded in his stomach.

Looming over him, Sliske's expression grew dangerously wicked then, and he laughed, a grating scrape. "Oh Janny, you didn't think it'd be that easy, did you?"

Jahaan couldn't think to forumate words; his bloodshot eyes were transfixed on the haunting silhouette of Sliske. Even if he wanted to speak, he couldn't through the blood gurgling in the back of his throat, escaping in fragments with every pained cough. His racing mind tried to comprehend regular thought and action, to fight beyond the agony, but it was futile - the only things Jahaan seemed to be able to focus on were those layered eyes of Sliske, and the Staff ripping through his insides.

Then, the Mahjarrat positioned the top end of the Staff towards the centre of his own stomach. "It's as I told you before… you're already mine…"

Suddenly, Sliske drove the Staff inside himself, his face contorting horrifically as he pulled it in deeper and held it firm.

Jahaan froze. At that moment, he could barely register the pain. Pain was ethereal, unreal. No, he was too transfixed on the reality of Sliske to focus on anything else.

For a moment that seemed boundless, the two were linked.

World Guardian and Praefectus Praetorio.

Jahaan Siad-Samak… and Sliske.

Then, the Staff began to shake of its own accord, and Sliske screamed. All the control and innate smugness he held only moments ago disappeared in a heartbeat, and the Mahjarrat's eyes turned panicked. A bolt of energy cracked inside of Sliske as the Staff continued to tremble.

Something was wrong.

Then, the shaking stopped, and Jahaan watched as the life drained from Sliske's once glowing eyes. Finally, the Mahjarrat slumped over on the Staff.

Jahaan just stood there, numb to the pain by now. His heart felt hollow, yet somehow… in some strange way, he began to feel more real than he ever had before. Like he was a drawing come to life, his edges sharp and solid, while Sliske's blurred and faded.

Despite this, an eternity passed, and Jahaan felt more alone than he ever had in his entire life.

Suddenly, movement.

Sliske's shoulders started shaking, growing in life and animation, and the Staff started trembling again in Jahaan's grip. Sliske's head shot up, his face a haunted portrait of blood and madness.

There was something different in his eyes. A confidence once absent, a hint of a sneer now returned, like he _knew_. He knew something, he'd figured out the missing link to a puzzle Jahaan didn't even know existed, and he began to laugh. His maniacal laughter shook Jahaan to the core, turning his blood cold.

Shadows began to wrap around Sliske, dark mist and clouds engulfing the Mahjarrat until all that could be seen was his cackling silhouette. With his last ounce of being, he uttered one simple phrase, a whisper and a hiss, that sent a chill down Jahaan's spine.

Then, he was gone.

When the dust settled, all that was left in Sliske's place was a stone statue with the Staff buried inside. It didn't take long before the rock began to crack and crumble, exploding outwards. Jahaan shielded his face to protect himself. When he managed to open his eyes again, the statue was no more, and neither was Sliske.

With his last menial ounce of strength, Jahaan yanked the Staff from out of his stomach.

Then, he collapsed to the floor and willingly let the darkness take him.

"_I loved you for more than your soul…"_

Then, the ground began to shake, slightly at first, but with an ever-increasing fury. All that could be heard in the chaos was a hollow voice…

"_Come to me…"_

The world went black, blacker than the deepest chasm, darker than the darkest abyss. The silence inside was so thick, it was tangible, like the empty void was sentient and feeling, watching and waiting, listening and speaking.

When Jahaan awoke, he felt cold stone beneath his bloodied and bruised face. Prising his eyes open was a formidable task, not made easier by the relentless throbbing in his skull. He felt like his head was going to break apart from the inside out. Once he managed to keep his eyes open for longer than a fleeting second, he then found difficulty in adjusting to the white light floating around him, as if the world was replaced by nothing but a blank canvas.

The ringing in his ears took a little longer to subside, but when it did, he managed to pick out the echoing voice of Zaros, alongside another, unrecognisable voice.

"I am Zaros, firstborn of Mah," Zaros announced, "I come to claim my birthright. I possess the core of Mah. In her absence in your pantheon, I ask to take my place."

"_No,"_ came the simple reply.

Jahaan realised it was the same hollow voice as the one that brought him to this mysterious plane. It was also the same voice that Jahaan heard in Sliske's chamber, the one that brought the Stone of Jas to the Mahjarrat in the first place. It whispered and echoed, bellowed and sang all harmoniously, concurrently, as it formed the world around them.

"I urge you, see reason," Zaros implored, "With Mah dead your numbers are diminished, you need me to take her place!"

"_No"_

"Why do you deny me?" as Zaros' desperation grew, so too did the fire in his tone. "Look at what I have achieved, and imagine what I could achieve among your ranks. I have Mah's core. I am forged from her energy. How could you deny my claim?"

"_A flame"_

"_Can never be a star"_

"_However bright"_

"_It burns"_

"_You are of Mah"_

"_But you are not Mah"_

The voice spoke only in broken fragments, as if the Common Tongue was foreign to it, or it simply did not consider eloquence a worthwhile endeavour.

Zaros could no longer contain his fury. "NO! I will have my birthright!"

"_No"_

"Then tell me why. What more must I do?" Zaros pleaded, his eyes heavy, features weary, as he struggled against the gravity of the being he was talking to.

"_There is nothing"_

"_We are creation"_

"_We create life"_

"_A power beyond you"_

Zaros countered, "But what of life I have created? The nihil? Nex?"

"_Shadows"_

"_Whispers"_

"_False life"_

"_To be as us"_

"_Creation from nothing"_

"_Only we have this power"_

"I have learned enough to know that there are no absolutes," Zaros declared. "If I can create life, you _will _accept me as one of you."

The voice was impassive yet commanding as it maintained, "_Impossible"_

"We shall see about that," Zaros grumbled. "I will not be denied."

"_Leave"_

At this, Zaros teleported away, whether of his own volition or by the power of the voice, Jahaan was not sure. All he knew now was that he was alone, in a foreign dimension, planet or plane - of that he was unsure - and nothing separated him from the mighty presence surrounding him.

"_Stand"_

Despite the vehement protests from his own body, Jahaan willed himself to comply with the order, scraping himself off the stone ground with every last ounce of fleeting strength he could muster. His frail and fragile bones fought back, as did gravity, pulling him back down to the floor. Eventually he willed himself to stand on rickety legs, swaying and staggering in place. When he looked down at himself, he saw the blood-soaked shirt he was wearing. Carefully, he peeled the sticky material away from his skin, retching as he saw the extent of the wound. Yet, the wound seemed still. By all accounts, he knew he should be bleeding out right about now, but he wasn't. He wasn't bleeding at all. Make no mistake, the wound was far from healed... yet it seemed frozen in time.

Unable to comprehend the nature of his injury, Jahaan instead forced his eyes to focus on the world around him, particularly at the amazing, terrifying creature beholding him.

Bathed in a neon blue glow was a gigantic, ten armed being shaped like the sun, and twice as imposing. It looked as if it was carved out of stone, with two yellow eyes on each arm and another on the centre of what could arguably be labelled its 'chest'.

Clearing his throat, Jahaan tried his best to ignore the taste of iron in his mouth as he asked, "Where am I?"

"_Here"_

Jahaan rubbed the back of his head, feeling a large bump. "I was hoping for a more specific answer."

"_You"_

"_Are"_

"_Here"_

Jahaan sighed. "Alright, let's try a new question. Who are you?"

"_Jas"_

Jahaan's eyes grew wide, his chest suddenly incredibly heavy as a large lump formed in his throat. He suspected, but to have it confirmed? Rushing through his mind came a tidal wave of thoughts, questions and emotions, as here he stood, in the presence of an elder god, of the oldest elder god of them all, of the being that shaped the universe and created all life.

All he could say was, "Oh…"

"_Explain,"_ Jas demanded, her tone neutral.

Jahaan queried, "Explain what?"

"_My agent"_

"_Explain its end"_

"Your agent?" Jahaan furrowed his brow. "You mean Sliske?"

"_Yes"_

"_Explain"_

Clearing his throat, Jahaan replied, "Sliske was trying to reignite a war between the gods. He… hurt a lot of people. I had to kill him."

Jas questioned, "_War?"_

This caused Jahaan to do a double take. The idea of explaining the concept of war to an elder god, the most powerful being in creation, was surreal to say the least. "Err… it's a conflict where large numbers of people kill each other for a single cause."

"_Why?"_

"That's probably too philosophical a question for… whatever this is."

"_Is it common?"_

"Yes."

"_You destroy yourselves"_

"More than we might like to think…" Jahaan answered, gravely. Then, his mind snapping back to the matter at hand, Jahaan inquired, "Why did you need Sliske to be your agent on Gielinor?"

"_Gods"_

"Excuse me?"

"_Yes"_

"No, I mean, can you tell me what you mean when you say 'gods'?"

"_The ones you call"_

"_Gods"_

"_Intrigue me"_

"_They claim power"_

"_They crave control"_

"_They have neither"_

"_Fascinating creations"_

"_You are a question"_

"_Mortal life is unexpected"_

"_It is dangerous"_

"_It shall end"_

"_A new cycle"_

"_Shall begin"_

The gravitas of Jas' words struck Jahaan like a thunderbolt. "Wait!" he cried out. "You can't just destroy us all! There are good elements to mortal life! Like, erm, love and peace and hope?"

"_Meaningless"_

"_Why should life"_

"_Continue"_

Jahaan was at a loss for words. "Because… because…"

"_No words"_

"_Prove by action"_

"_I ask the sisters"_

Then, a choir erupted around Jahaan. All it sang was, "_We hear"_

Jas continued, "_Consensus"_

"_Bik"_

"_Wen"_

"_Ful"_

"_Agree"_

"_Prove that life"_

"_Has worth"_

"_Or be"_

"_No more"_

"_Leave"_

"Wait!" Jahaan cut in, desperately. "You're Jas, you're THE elder god! I have so many questions!"

Jas responded, "_One"_

"One what? One question? I get one question?"

"_Yes"_

Jahaan frowned. "Why do I only get one question?"

"_Because"_

"_Leave"_

Jahaan's eyes grew wide. "No, wait, that wasn't my question!"

But it was futile - the world around him was engulfed in white light, and he could feel his body flying away from Jas, away from this state of painless non-being… and crashing back towards reality.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	54. Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame (Ch8)

**Quest 11: Sliske's Endgame**

**Chapter 8 - The Other Side**

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske's games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat's design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske's madness once and for all...

* * *

As soon as all the gods were spat out of the labyrinth and into the sweltering desert heat, Seren informed the gathered crowd about the fate of the Stone, and how the World Guardian and Sliske were left behind when it exploded. Though it was implied that they would have perished, Icthlarin knew otherwise, as did Death.

Zamorak and Saradomin left soon after, not caring to spend anymore time among one another's company than they had to. The Stone - their prize for these tedious games - had been destroyed, therefore what was the point in remaining?

Armadyl decided to stay. When he noticed Icthlarin and Death hadn't left, he didn't want to either. Their presence meant there was still hope for Jahaan. He discussed with his avianse about the feasibility of tunneling down to provide the World Guardian with some assistance. Even though it was agreed that such a feat was impossible, Armadyl refused to leave until he saw either Jahaan or Sliske emerge from below. He prayed it was the former.

Seren stayed too, as did Zaros. If Sliske was the one to crawl out from the depths below, they wanted to be the first to greet him.

After what felt like an age had passed, Zaros suddenly vanished. There was no teleport spell cast - he just vanished. Naturally, panic and paranoia followed, Azzanadra nearly coming to blows with the elves that guarded Seren. He was convinced she had something to do with his disappearance, despite her affirmation that she knew nothing and there was no evidence suggesting otherwise. It took Armadyl and Icthlarin to quell the tension, but they barely managed it.

After only a few minutes, Zaros blinked back into the gathering like he'd returned from a ripple in existence, though considerably angrier than when he left. Seren tried to call out to him, but he simply stormed over to his entourage and teleported away with them, a dark cloud lingering where he left.

Not long after that, Jahaan returned to them.

Or at least, what was left of him.

Jahaan was conscious when he hit the ground, though that sharp return of his agony made him wish he wasn't. What happened next, however, barely registered for him - the dirt and tears in his eyes, coupled with the deafening ringing in his ears, made focusing impossible. All he could concentrate on was the pain, hoping it would get to the stage where he would black out from it. At least then he wouldn't have to endure it.

Instead, he felt hands grab at him, rolling him over. He didn't realise just how much blood he was lying in. An involuntary, blood-curdling shriek escaped from his lips when hands tried to put pressure on the wound.

He felt a cool ice coat his abdomen, a subtle pressure attached to it - a female voice followed it. Seren had temporarily stopped the bleeding with a layer of crystal. Not that Jahaan noticed. All he felt was a nauseating jolt as he was lifted up into the air, head-spinning and limbs crying out in protest.

Seren told the others to follow her to Prifddinas, which to Jahaan was nothing more than an echoed mumble. Whenever he was going, he hoped a bed was on the other side of it. A nice, warm bed… _can't I just sleep now?_

Fortunately for Jahaaan, he got his wish.

The spell was intended to comatose the World Guardian during the operation. Elven medicine was far superior to anything else on Gielinor, therefore Seren knew Jahaan's best chances were with her. But there was a lot of blood lost already, alongside damage to the small intestine, some of which would have to be removed. It would take days to see if the procedure had worked, and Jahaan's condition could deteriorate in a matter of hours if they had missed a source of internal infection. Herbal remedies were infused into him to keep his vitals stable and to provide nutrients.

Whenever Jahaan was awake, he wasn't ever 'there'. Some delirious mumbles, a glazed expression, and a refusal to eat. Then, he would fall asleep again, sometimes for the rest of the day.

The chief healer, Lady Heledd, estimated that he would be sitting up, talking and eating within five days. Eight had passed, and all he did was sleep. Often, Jahaan would talk in his sleep, a crude blend of languages, some that even Lady Heledd and the other healers didn't recognise.

Heads turned whenever Icthlarin and Death visited the affirmed, and assurances had to be made that, if they were there to claim Jahaan's soul, they wouldn't be coming in through the front door.

While Icthlarin was unaware of when Jahaan would pass, he knew that Death held that information. Death knew the 'when' and 'how' for every being on Gielinor. Of course, Death never parted with this information, not even to Icthlarin. Doing so would 'upset the balance', he would always say. Icthlarin couldn't resent his friend for doing his duties, but hated not knowing if the next time he saw Jahaan would be in the Underworld. Not that Jahaan wanted to go through the Underworld, or to an afterlife. Icthlarin knew that, if the time came, he would have to respect the World Guardian's decision.

Jahaan was never awake for their visits, nor was he awake for the handful of times Armadyl dropped in on him. The avianse deity had diligently stayed at his bedside, sometimes for hours on end, never getting anything more than a delirious groan from the World Guardian. Despite trusting the elves and elven medicine, Armadyl invited Gaw'kara to join him in a visit to Jahaan's hospital room, just to see if he had a different take on Jahaan's condition. Unfortunately, he didn't, reaffirming what Lady Heledd and the elven healers had told them: time will tell.

When Jahaan slept for thirty-six hours straight, having to be kept alive by the constant chanting of an air spell to assist his breathing, there was the fear he might never wake up.

Until he did.

Groggily, Jahaan dragged himself back into consciousness, blinking away the haziness of his vision and trying to sharpen up the world around him. It was bright, very bright. Everything seemed to shine, like the walls were made of pure cyan crystal. It reminded him of Prifddinas, or what little he had seen of it.

_Has Icthlarin accidentally taken me to Seren's afterlife?_ Jahaan thought to himself, though reconsidered the likelihood after trying to sit up slightly and feeling a searing pain in his abdomen. _Surely the afterlife doesn't come with lasting agony?_

Then, he heard a voice beside him, "Don't move. I'll get Lady Heledd."

A brush of turquoise flittered past his vision. Soon after, a tall elven woman with curled blonde hair tied into a high bob entered the room. Her gown was white and pristine with a turquoise diamond emblazoned on it.

"Where am I?" Jahaan hoarsely whispered, his croaky throat coughing with the effort. A straw was forced near his mouth, and Jahaan hungrily sipped down the contents like he hadn't drunk in months. More coughing followed.

"Steady on, love," the pointy-eared healer cooed. Her warm voice was reassurance incarnate. "You're alright now. Can you tell me your name?"

"Jahaan," the World Guardian replied, needing to take a deep breath as he continued, "Jahaan Siad-Samak."

"Alrighty Jahaan, and can you tell me your age?" Lady Heledd asked with a soft tone you'd usually use when addressing a child. In fact, she continued on with about a dozen more questions Jahaan deemed as asinine, his repeating inquiries as to his location ignored every time.

"I don't understand why you won't tell me what's going on," Jahaan huffed, feeling slightly more invigorated now. Not enough to move, no. But enough to sound slightly irate. "Where am I?"

Setting down the notebook she'd been penning his answers into, alongside other comments and remarks, Lady Heledd perched on the bed beside Jahaan with the friendliest smile he'd ever seen. She probably gave this smile to everyone, but Jahaan wanted to think that it was reserved purely for him. "You're in Prifddinas, love, in hospital. You've been out a while. I needed to ask all those questions to make sure you were fully with me this time."  
"Fully with you?" Jahaan queried at the odd turn of phrase. "What do you mean? How long was I out?"

"Just under two weeks, dear," Lady Heledd replied. "You've been awake before now, but you weren't all that responsive, talking slightly delirious and all that."

Jahaan tried to run his mind back over the last two weeks, but came up empty. He remembered nothing from that period. He forced his mind back further, but it was a mighty effort.

_The labyrinth, the fight, the stab,_ he winced at the last one, tying it to the ache in his stomach. Then, his eyes widened. "Jas!"

"Steady on, dear," Lady Heledd held him down as he bolted up in bed, the World Guardian instantly regretting the action, crumbling back into the bedsheets with an extended groan. "What's this 'Jas' anyhow?"

Panting from the exertion, Jahaan said, "I need to talk to Seren."

"World Guardian!" Seren cheerily greeted when she glided into the room. "I'm glad to see you compos-mentis."

There were pressing concerns on Jahaan's mind, one's he wanted to share urgently before they were forgotten in the depths of his memory. But naturally, he first wanted to say, "Thank you for everything you have done for me, Seren. It sounds like you saved my life."

"My elves saved your life," Seren corrected, humbly. "It was touch and go at some points, I must say. But it's a relief you pulled through. Your death would have been a loss for all of Gielinor, after all you have done. What happened down there, after the Stone exploded?"

Briefly, Jahaan informed Seren about the battle with Sliske and how the drain on the Mahjarrat's energy weakened him severely. He told of how he was stabbed by the Staff of Armadyl, and how Sliske stabbed himself too, no doubt trying to forcefully siphon Jahaan's soul into himself. But, for some reason, the process failed, and Sliske turned to stone.

Then, he finally arrived at what he needed to tell her the most, about his meeting with Jas.

After the tale ended, the elven deity was rendered speechless.

Jahaan had to prompt her, "What should be done?"

Seren gulped. "I… am not quite sure. I am not surprised at my brother's attempt to ascend to elder godhood, and I am glad he was denied. But Jas said that mortal life has to prove it is worthy of existing, or the Great Revision will commence again… how do we prove ourselves to a being that considers mortal life a mistake? How can we..."

Her tone became faint, trailing off towards the end. To Seren, she had been burdened with the task of ensuring all life in the universe continued. To Jahaan, he'd relieved himself of the issue for now. No doubt it would weigh on him at a later date, but for now, tiredness was crawling back into his mind, his eyes suddenly feeling a whole lot heavier.

After a few minutes of solemn contemplation, Seren noticed her audience was waning. "I shall leave you to rest. Perhaps tomorrow you'll be up for an audience? Icthlarin has been visiting repeatedly, much to the disconcertion of the elves."

"I'd like that," Jahaan said with a faint smile before allowing his eyes to close.

When Icthlarin walked through into his room the next day, Jahaan was finally sitting up and managing to get some soup down him. Solid foods were still too much of a struggle, and his appetite was far from its usual self, but this soup was _divine_. Never had hospital food tasted so damn _good_. Maybe it was because he hadn't eaten much of anything in a fortnight, but this soup was one of the finest culinary delights he had ever had the pleasure of enjoying. This was a hill he was prepared to die on.

"Icthlarin!" Jahaan grinned, the soup's warmth and happiness increasing his mood tenfold. "I must be the only human alive who's glad to see the god of the underworld."

"It is good to see you here, alive and _almost_ in one piece, my friend," Icthlarin replied, a broad smile that revealed his large canines. It soon faded, however, as he said, "I… apologise for the state I was in during Sliske's labyrinth. I am embarrassed you had to see me like that."

"Don't apologise," Jahaan fervently finished up the last of the soup. "I'm just glad you're back to your usual self now. Can't say the same for me though. Lady Heledd - the chief healer here - thinks I'm going to be bedridden for a while."

Jahaan didn't frankly care, as long as he had his soup.

Naturally, Icthlarin was curious as to what occurred after he was ejected from the maze, and Jahaan regaled him with the tale in full. Afterwards, there was a prevailing question on Jahaan's mind he had to ask, even if the subject loomed over his good mood like rain clouds threatening to burst.

Mentally preparing himself, he breathed deeply before asking, "How was Ozan when you saw him?"

Icthlarin furrowed his brow. "Ozan?"

"You remember Ozan, don't you?" Jahaan checked, slightly puzzled. The two had met on adventures in the past, and Icthlarin never forgot a face. "He was one of Sliske's wights. He'd have passed onto the afterlife after Sliske died, right?"

"I remember Ozan well, but he never passed into my domain."

For a brief moment, Jahaan could have sworn he felt his heart stop. "C-Can you explain that?"

"I… I do not know how," Icthlarin looked as concerned as he did confused. "If Ozan was bound to Sliske as a wight, Sliske's death should have released Ozan's soul. That is the natural order of things."

Jahaan didn't want to say it. He didn't want to dare get his hopes up. The pain of having them crash down around him might finish him off for good. And yet, he couldn't help himself. "Are you saying… Ozan's alive?"

"I can only confirm that he is not dead," Icthlarin spoke slowly, like he was calculating equations in his mind, ones that were written in a language he couldn't quite decipher. "At least, not fully. Perhaps he is still trapped as a wight, but that should not be possible. He should-"

He was interrupted by a tight hand squeezing his own. Jahaan bolted upright in bed, wide eyes showing more signs of life than they ever had. "Can you find him for me? P-Please, I… I need to see him, please can you try to find him?"

Features softening, Icthlarin rested a paw on top of Jahaan's hand. "I shall try, my friend."

When Icthlarin shut the door to Jahaan's room, he leant back against the firm mahogany, his thoughts trying to catch up with him. Indeed, Ozan was still on this world - something the god of the underworld just _knew_. But how? Icthlarin never saw the man as a wight, but if indeed that was the fate that befell him, Sliske's death would have released the man into his domain.

Something was off. Something was also off about Jahaan, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. There was just a smell around him, something about his usual scent that didn't match.

Rubbing his temples, Icthlarin resolved to sleep on the matter, then locate Ozan in the morning. Perhaps by talking to him, Ozan could shed some light on the situation.

The next evening, Jahaan heard the swish of a teleport spell land outside his door and the faint mumblings of Icthlarin's voice. When he spoke to the elves, he spoke in elven, so Jahaan had no idea what was being said.

But Jahaan didn't care what they were talking about. All he could think about was if Icthlarin had brought company with him.

Scrambling to sit up in bed, Jahaan's heart beat faster and faster, making a home inside of his throat. The anticipation was killing him.

Then, after one twist of the door handle, his heart threatened to burst.

Ozan walked through the door.

He was still a ghostly green, translucent in some places, with robes that seemed decayed and withered. In fact, he looked exactly the same as he did in Sliske's chasm, though thankfully without the damage to his legs that Jahaan had inflicted.

Both men just stared at each other in disbelief for too long, debating the chance that the other was a mirage.

Eventually though, Ozan plucked up the courage to remark, "Wow, finally someone that looks worse than me."

Jahaan practically choked on his own tears as he started to laugh. Just to hear Ozan's voice again made all of this worth it. Every single memory he'd be forced to relive, every single injury he'd have to endure for the rest of his life… Ozan made it all worth it.

"I can't believe you're here," Jahaan stammered through the tears, desperately trying to wipe them away with his bedsheets.

"Neither can I," Ozan laughed, nervously scratching the back of his head. He was never good with hospitals - they freaked him out, but he tried his best to hide that fact through a broad smirk. "Now, you aren't going to break if I hug you, right?"

Grinning, Jahaan beckoned him over. But as soon as Ozan embraced him, the man recoiled suddenly, inhaling a sharp breath.

Jahaan froze. "Are you okay, Ozan?"

Gulping, Ozan's hand slowly moved to gently rub his neck, taking a tentative step backwards. "Didn't you feel that?"

"Feel… what?"

"That… shock," Ozan cleared his throat, exhaling a shaky breath. Shaking his head, he tried to chuckle, "Maybe it's the side effects of being dead?"

Jahaan forced a faint laugh, but he was unnerved by the scared look in his friend's eyes.

The two talked for ages long after that, but Ozan sat firmly on the other side of the room, as far away from Jahaan as possible. For a man with no sense of personal space, it was rather concerning, but Jahaan refused to think too much about it. He had his best friend back - nothing else mattered.

"I just woke up back at the Barrows," Ozan recalled. "I didn't have that grip on me anymore - I had control again, free will. The others were there too, Ahrim and Dharok… all of them felt the same way. Sliske's hold over us had gone."

Jahaan replied, "I'm just confused… when Sliske died, you should have passed on, not be trapped on Gielinor."

"Icthlarin said the same thing when he found us," Ozan informed. "Said he had no idea why we were still here. He offered to take our souls to the afterlife though, if we wanted it, since we were already dead and all. Some of the Brothers are considering it."

"What about you?" Jahaan tried not to sound nervous.

Fortunately, Ozan's grin reassured him. "Oh I'm not going anywhere. A world without Ozan would be a very dreary place indeed."

More guests visited him throughout his weeks in bedrest, but Ozan was the regular, bringing him books and sneaking Coal in to visit him when the healers weren't looking. The man had gone back to the Wizards' Tower and received a tearful reunion with Ariane, which warmed Jahaan's heart. He and Ariane had shared their differences in the past, but she made Ozan happy, and that was all that mattered.

It took severe persuading from the city's elders, but eventually, upon Seren's insistence, Azzanadra was allowed to visit Jahaan. Not that the Mahjarrat was pleased at all with having to enter Seren's domain. In fact, he loathed the idea. But he felt a duty to Jahaan to at least visit him once. If the World Guardian can fight alongside him in a Mahjarrat Ritual, this was the least he could do.

But he didn't stay long. In fact, as soon as he entered Jahaan's hospital room, he wanted to leave. Something was not quite right. There was a feeling, a pull, a familiar presence lingering… like a ghost trapped within the walls.

Azzanadra listened intently to the story of what happened after he was cast out of the labyrinth, trying not to let his stony features betray the trepidation he felt.

One part of the story stuck with him, however, threatening to bring his darkest theories to light.

"Which end of the Staff did he stab you with, again?" Azzanadra checked, biting on the inside of his cheek

"The bottom part," Jahaan replied, "Thank the gods he did. If I got stabbed with those wing things on the top, well…"

It was as Azzanadra feared. He had seen the work of the Staff, the Siphon, first hand before. Memories of the Empty Throne Room and Zaros' assassination by the Staff were still fresh in his mind, just like it happened yesterday. Zamorak had used the Staff to siphon power from Zaros into himself. Sliske must have intended to use it to extract Jahaan's soul, but instead he made a fatal error.

Wahisietel did not want to visit Jahaan.

Jahaan understood. The wound was too fresh; he would not want an audience with the man who was effectively his half-brother's murderer. If Wahisietel would accept him, Jahaan would visit him when he could, explain what happened, and apologise for the role he was forced to play.

It would take time, Azzanadra had told him. The Mahjarrat had visited Wahisietel in his Nardah home to find the place a wreck, and Wahisietel himself was in no fit state.

"Can you tell him..." Jahaan started to ask Azzanadra, but was unsure how to sum up everything he wanted to say in just one sentence. "Just… can you tell him I'd like to see him at some point, and that I'm sorry."

The words would sound hollow to Wahisietel. 'Sorry'? Would 'sorry' bring back the only family he'd had for generations?

Jahaan quite enjoyed his time confined to bed rest. For once in gods knew how long, there was no weight inside his chest, no looming shadow of Sliske to cloud over his mind. Responsibilities could take a back seat. He had earned his repose.

Of course, there was the issue of the elder gods' ultimatum to prove that life was worth existing, but Jahaan decided he'd cross that bridge when he had to. In fact, from how he felt right now, Jahaan was rather content with never crossing that bridge. He'd been Gielinor's hero enough for one lifetime - someone else could take over the role for all he minded.

Yes, the idea of retirement seemed pretty good right now…

...until Jahaan heard a disembodied laugh rattle through his mind.

* * *

_DISCLAIMER:_

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


	55. Epilogue

Jahaan dangled his fishing rod down into the depths of the wondrous Prifddinas waterfall. The waterfall was sky-blue and magical, tumbling down over the mountain and splashing into the lake below. The pool down there was so clear it perfectly reflected the brilliant white clouds above like an impeccable mirror image of the sky. The falls twinkled as sunlight caught the crystal walls of the surrounding buildings and flashed their brilliance into the lake.

The air tasted fresh on Jahaan's tongue, as nourishing as a glass of iced water. You could smell the purity of the atmosphere, of a little haven attuned with nature, living harmoniously around its elven neighbours.

The crashing cascade of the water was a low hum beneath him, a pleasant swish of waves lapping against the rocks. He heard the sound of children playing in the lake below, giggling and laughing in tune with the sweet chirping of birds.

Perched on his little wooden bridge, Jahaan took in the calming atmosphere with a contented sigh. This was the place he spent most of his days now, ever since the town council agreed to gift him a little house in the Meilyr district, a small token of appreciation for his services to Gielinor. It had been about three months since he was discharged from the hospital, and he hadn't left Prifddinas since. He didn't want to.

Jahaan worked part-time in the bait-and-tackle shop in the Meilyr district, and supplemented his income by fishing. They had strange fish in these waters, all making for a strange delicacy. It was an acquired taste at first, the urchins that he caught and cooked, but he slowly got used to them. Once he learned he could put them in soup - creating the best delicacy ever, hill still firmly there to die on - it was a different matter entirely. Lady Heledd had been kind enough to share the recipe with him.

Ozan settled down beside the bridge, still keeping a slight distance between himself and Jahaan. "Hey, Ariane's finished setting up the picnic if you wanna come join us?"

Ozan was adapting to life as a wight quicker than anticipated. The inability to eat grated on him the most, and his appearance would occasionally frighten the elven children. It took awhile to convince the locals he wasn't a zombie. Said locals referred to him as '_marwwr'_, not really a term of endearment but a factual statement that, yes, he was a deadman. Ozan got used to it though, taking it in good humour.

He and Ariane didn't exactly want to relocate to Prifddinas, but ended up doing so anyway. Unfortunately, west of the River Lum, those of the undead variety weren't particularly welcome in towns and cities. At least in Prifddinas, Ozan had Jahaan, the town elders, and even Seren to vouch for him. As for Ariane, thanks to teleportation, it was easy to commute to the Wizards' Tower for work. There, she and a handful of other wizards were starting to look into a cure for Ozan's affliction, but hopes weren't high as of yet.

Coal wasn't a big fan of Prifddinas once he figured out that crystal was too tough to eat, and most of the structures and tools in the city were made out of such a material.

Nudging closer to Jahaan, but never too close, Ozan motioned with his head to the female fisherman perched on the rock opposite Jahaan, the one with brunette bangs who's eyes kept flicking in the World Guardian's direction.

"Psst," Ozan whispered with a mischievous smirk. "I think she's checking you out."

Jahaan looked over at the elf in question, but she quickly glanced away with a sheepish smile.

Turning back to Ozan, Jahaan grinned and said, "Drop dead Ozan."

"Already did, Jahaan."

"Encore."

Then there was a laugh, but it wasn't Jahaan's or Ozan's, and it echoed throughout Jahaan's mind. He shook his head to clear it.

This had happened before, many times. Jahaan had a theory, but he shared it with no-one. After all, a pleasant lie was far better than an unpleasant truth.

What he didn't know was, some of those around him had the exact same theory.

There were differences he noticed ever since he woke up inside that Prifddinas hospital bed. He could sense auras around people, dark shadows that lurked around their being. Sometimes the world had slightly muted colours, like he was unconsciously slipping into the Shadow Realm, something he never intended to do again.

But the main difference he noticed was the voice inside his head, a new voice that was certainly not his own.

It was there during the menial and mundane, there during the trials and tribulations. It talked to him, and talked AT him. Reassuring occasionally, mocking often, but not necessarily at his expense. It commented on things, laughed at other people's jokes.

Sometimes it even sang.

At first it disturbed him, but as he became more and more used to its presence, it stopped bothering him so much. Sometimes, when it was quiet, Jahaan missed it.

But late at night, when he tried to go to sleep, the familiar laugh would always return...

...and when no-one was around…

...Jahaan would laugh back.

* * *

_As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex._


End file.
